POEMS 



BY JOHN 
VANCE 
GHENEY 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



POEMS 



BY 

JOHN VANCE CHENEY 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1905 



I CONGRESS. 

■ Two C-OBISS i>9C6;v3:i J 



SEP 18 \9M 



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COPYRIGHT 1905 BY JOHN VANCE CHENEY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published September iqos 



t- 



r 



TO 
SARA LOUISE CHENEY 



•?> 



NOTE 

The present volume contains all the author's verse now 
before the public in book form. Grateful acknowledg- 
ment for permission to reprint is made to the editors and 
proprietors of the following periodicals : 

Ainslie's Magazine 

The Atlantic Monthly 

The Century Magazine 

The Cosmopolitan 

Country Life in America 

The Critic and Literary World 

The Delineator 

Harper's Monthly Magazine 

Harper's Bazar 

The Independent 

The Ladies' Home Journal 

Lippincott's Monthly Magazine 

McClure's Magazine 

Munsey's Magazine 

The New Age 

New England Magazine 

Out West 

The Outlook 

The Pacific Monthly 

St. Nicholas 

The Smart Set 

Sunset Magazine 

The Youth's Companion 



CONTENTS 

THE HEART OF MAN 





PAGB 


My Faith 


3 


The Isles of Quiet 


4 


By and By 


5 


Thanks 


6 


Place Enough for Me and Peace 


7 


This My Life 


lO 


The Happiest Heart 


1 1 


What Wouldst Thou More 


12 


The Grace of the Ground (i, ii) 


13 


My Choice 


15 


My Fame and Fortune 


16 


LOVE 




The Mystic Kinship 


19 


We May Love 


20 


The Hour Supreme 


21 


When Love Comes 


23 


The Cup of Bliss 


24 


The Way to Learn 


25 


Thou and I 


26 



CONTENTS 



I Keep Thy Memory 


27 


Le Sonnet D'Arvers 


28 


Love and Grief 


29 


The Lost Lamb 


30 


One 


31 


Nameless 


32 


How Darest Thou Wait 


33 


My Shepherdess 


34 


Somewhere 


35 


My Fairest Fair 


36 


A Thought 


37 


Dream and a Day 


38 


At Parting 


39 


Fate's Tablet 


40 


Time and the Hour 


4» 


Bleeding Heart and Broken Wings 


42 


LIFE 




Calm 


45 


The Gracious Failure 


46 


The Poets of Old Israel 


47 


**Is there any Word from the Lord " 


48 


Great is To-Day 


50 


The Fallen 


52 


The Voice of the Sequoia 


56 


George Washington 


62 


Abraham Lincoln 


64 


The Man with the Hoe 


66 


X 





CONTENTS 

A Trilogy for this Time 

I. Freedom 70 

II. The Gold of Havilah 7 I 

III. The Hyssop in the Wall 73 

On a Picture of Lincoln 76 

Emerson 7 7 

Socrates 78 

The Immortality of Might 79 

The Sphinx 80 

The Hand 8 1 

THE VALLEY OF SHADOW 

At the Sign of the Spade 8 5 

To Dusty Nothing 86 

Tears 8 7 

To Hope 88 

I Need not Hear 89 

The Eagle 90 



To the Bitter End 



The Lost Soul 



91 



The Drawing of the Lot 92 



93 



The Body and the Soul 94 

Poor Little Jane 96 

Little Jump for Joy 97 

The Past 98 

My Children 99 

At a Grave (i, 11) 100 
xi 



CONTENTS 

In Memoriam J. V. C. 

I. The Shadow Came lOI 

II. At a Grave lOI 

III. By the Western Sea I02 

IV. Asleep in the West I ©3 

The White Blossom 104 

Until the Evening 105 

No Longer with the Years 106 

THE HEART OF NATURE 

SPRING AND SUMMER 
MORNING AND EVENING 

The Informal Courtier 109 

At the Hyla's Call ill 

The Nest in the Vine 1 1 3 

The Beeches Brighten 1 14 

The Old Tree 1 1 5 

Fancy's Song 116 

The Wise Piper 1 1 8 

The Wood-Thrush 119 

The Weeds 120 

To a Humming-Bird 121 

Summer Noon 122 

August 123 

The Winds 124 

The Wind 126 

To the Evening Star 128 
xii 



CONTENTS 

Memory 1 30 

Evening Rain 1 3 1 

Evening 1^2 

Sunset in the Redwoods 13^ 

Twilight 135 

AUTUMN AND WINTER 

ANIMALIA 



For a Day 


139 


To the Fall Wind 


140 


The Last Dance of the Leaves 


141 


Snowflakes 


142 


Prospero of the North 


144 


** Now Winter Nights Enlarge " 


H7 


Old Friends 


148 


The Little Warm Owl 


149 


The Wolf of the Evenings 


150 


Coyote 


^51 


Poet and Crow 


153 


The Loon 


157 


Toad 


159 


To Tree-Crickets 


160 


QUATRAINS AND SONNETS 




My Song 


163 


Prose for Woes 


163 


The Poet (i, n, in) 


164 


Memory (i, 11) 


165 



CONTENTS 



Lost Joy 


1 66 


The Loitering Joys 


i66 


Here and Hereafter 


167 


But Once 


167 


To rhe Dregs 


168 


Fate 


168 


The Wind Voice 


169 


Slain 


169 


The Victor 


170 


Now 


170 


The Angel Standing By 


171 


Wouldst Hear the Singing of the Spheres 


171 


The Old 


172 


Thus Run the Hours 


172 


Our Two Gifts 


173 


Tears 


173 


Trust (i, II, III) 


174 


Wisdom 


•75 


Death 


175 


The First Dawn 


176 


The Death of Adam 


178 


The Passing of the Queen 


180 


My Books 


181 


The Voice of the Mountain 


182 


Grown Old With Nature 


183 


Two Friends 


184 


I Wouldn't 


185 


The Skilful Listener 


185 



CONTENTS 

Two Voices 1 86 

My Fancies 1 86 

Spring (i, ii) 187 

Early Morning 188 

The South Wind 188 

The Hermit-Thrush 189 

Twilight 189 

Haunting My Dreams 190 

The Passing of Autumn (i, 11, iii, iv, v) 191 

The Trees 193 

The Voice of the Wind 193 

The Voice of the Grass (i, n) 194 

EARLIER AND LIGHTER F ERSES 



The Way of It 


197 


To Youngsters 


199 


*' Sweet-Thing " Jane 


201 


What I Would 


203 


Come Along, Deary 


204 


My Castle in the Air 


205 


Little Love Forgetteth his Umbrella 


206 


Auto-Da-Fe 


207 


Love 's in Town 


212 


Song of the Country Lass 


213 


Love's World 


215 


Life and I 


216 


At Candle-Lighting 


217 


XV 





CONTENTS 

The Open Heart jig 

Summer Rain 219 

Song of the Summer Hours 220 

The Coming of the Roses 221 

The Music of Nature" 222 

For the Malting of Music 223 

Over the Hill 224 

At the Hearthside 226 



The Kitchen Clock 



227 



The Trapper's Sweetheart 230 



232 
234 



A Saint of Yore 

Gran'ther 

The Old Farm Barn 236 

The Good Old Time 237 

Collie Kelso 

Brother Bachelor Batrachian 



239 
240 



Friend Ophidian 244 

WHEN LOl^E WAS LORD 247 

INDEX ro 'fHE FIRSr LINES 291 



XVI 



THE HEART OF MAN 
CREDO 



MY FAITH 

I TRUST in what the love-mad mavis sings, 
In what the whiteweed says whereso it 

blows, 
And the red sorrel and the redder rose ; 
I trust the power that puts the bee on wings, 
And in the socket sets the rock, and rings 
The hill with mist, and gilds the brook, 

and sows 
The dusk ; is on the wind which comes 
and goes. 
The voice in thunders and leaf-murmurings ; 
I trust the might that makes the lichen strong. 
That leads the rabbit from her burrow 
forth, 
That in the shadow hides, in sunlight 
shines ; 
I trust what gives the one lone cricket song. 
What points the clamorous wild-goose 
harrow north, 
And sifts the white calm on the winter 
pines. 

3 



THE ISLES OF QUIET 

The Isles of Quiet lie beyond the years. 
Hoar prophets say it ; yet, for all the tears, 
I doubt the saying of the seers. 

I think that whoso seeks them here shall 

find ; 
That all with open, patient heart and mind 
Shall drink of peace from sun and wind ; 

Shall make their own the hymn of rest begun 
When shadows say the summer day is done. 
And sky and field are growing one. 

Idler the fancy, closer it may cling; 
Yet I believe the wide air's murmuring. 
The sweet far song the thrushes sing. 



BY AND BY 

At last, somewhere, some happy day. 
The bliss will round us lie ; 

For all a joyous way 
To follow by and by. 

'T is taught by every star that wheels. 
By every flower that blows, 

By all a young heart feels. 
By all an old heart knows. 



THANKS 

Thanks to you, sun and moon and star, 
And you, blue level with no cloud, — 

Thanks to you, splendors from afar. 
For a high heart, a neck unbowed. 

Thanks to you, wind, sent to and fro. 
To you, light, pouring from the dawn ; 

Thanks for the breath and glory-flow 
The steadfast soul can feed upon. 

Thanks to you, pain and want and care. 
And you, joys, cunning to deceive, 

And you, balked phantoms of despair ; 
I battle on, and I believe. 

Thanks to you, ministers benign, 
In whatsoever guise you come; 

Under this fig-tree and this vine. 
Here I am master, and at home. 



PLACE ENOUGH FOR ME AND 
PEACE 

Upon the thousands cast 

Into the field of days, with troubled flow 
My thought went out ; I saw them ranked 
and massed 

In battle, and laid low. 

To live, to think and feel, 

It was to fat the robber of the nest; 
I looked, I saw the serpent at the heel. 

The aspic at the breast. 

I saw want's tightening twist. 

His crushing coil, around the child of care; 
I saw the day-god wallow through the mist 

To gild a harlot's hair. 

I saw high worth bowed down. 

Vanity glad as laughing summer-green ; 
I saw the unkingliest thing clap on a crown, 

Hoar honor wasting mean. 
7 



PLACE ENOUGH FOR ME 

But on itself thought turns. 

" Thou fool ! " mine said. " The lovely 
violet blows, 
There's fire yet in the star, the foxglove 
burns. 
Runs love-blood in the rose. 

" Curled in the shadow-vase, 

Ferns cluster ; morn shakes bright the 
willow leaves ; 
The haughty worlds are at the appointed 
place, 
The swallows at the eaves. 

" The grasshopper has song. 

The noon heat at the cricket's heart, it 
stings ; 
The bluebird still brings heaven with him 
along. 
Of it he shines and sings. 

" Out of the sun and cloud 

The silences, the wonders of the wind ; 



8 



PLACE ENOUGH FOR ME 

All trustful things with joyance cry aloud, 
They seek not, and they find." 

" Now will I once more bend," 

I said, " to humble service, wiser live ; 

With hope for my heartfellow, fate my friend. 
Take as the days may give. 

" From murmuring will I cease, 
And longer after folly follow not ; 

But, lord of place enough for me and peace. 
Will stand up in my lot." 



THIS MY LIFE 

I STRIVE to keep me in the sun ; 

I pick no quarrel with the years, 
Nor with the Fates, not even the one 

That holds the shears. 

I take occasion by the hand ; 

I 'm not too nice 'twixt weed and flower ; 
I do not stay to understand ; 

I take mine hour. 

The time is short enough at best. 

I push right onward while I may ; 
I open to the winds my breast. 

And walk the way. 

A kind heart greets me here and there ; 

I hide from it my doubts and fears. 
I trudge, and say the path is fair 

Along the years. 



10 



THE HAPPIEST HEART 

Who drives the horses of the sun 

Shall lord it but a day ; 
Better the lowly deed were done, 

And kept the humble way. 

The rust will find the sword of fame, 
The dust will hide the crown ; 

Ay, none shall nail so high his name 
Time will not tear it down. 

The happiest heart that ever beat 

Was in some quiet breast 
That found the common daylight sweet, 

And left to Heaven the rest. 



II 



WHAT WOULDST THOU MORE 

The sun and all the stars shine on thy head, 
The grass and blossoms all are at thy feet ; 
Nature's glad pageantries for thee are spread, 
Her winds loosed for thee, seminal and 
sweet ; 
For thee young morn binds his bright san- 
dals on ; 
Pale evening leads thee to the mother-fold ; 
The patient seasons serve thee : none are 
gone 
Of all the glories thronging from of old. 
Hoar silence sings thee her primeval lay ; 
Apt dream wraps round thee her enchant- 
ing light ; 
August companions walk with thee by day, 
They share thy bed in darkness of the 
night : 
The full years pour upon thee of their 

store, 
They gather for thy lap. What wouldst 
thou more ? 

12 



THE GRACE OF THE GROUND 



To-day I stretch me on the shadowed grass, 
And hear my heart say yet again to me, 
" Fly with the birds, and let the spent 
world be. 
Float, float," it says, " with lightest things 

that pass. 
Leap with the gauze-winged vaulters ; glass 
to glass, 
Drink with the bees ; go with the gentle 

throng 

Deep ever, lost, in revel sweet and long, 

The nearest, happiest children Nature has." 

And once again I quit the wanton round 

Of mockery, straight betake me to the 

ground. 

II 

Wherever a green blade looks up, 
A leaf lisps mystery, 
13 



THE GRACE OF THE GROUND 

Whereso a blossom holds its cup 
A mist rings land or sea, 

Wherever voice doth utter sound 
Or silence make her round, — 
There worship ; it is holy ground. 



H 



MY CHOICE 

I WOULD rather be 
In the shade of a tree, 

With a song and a handful of daisies, 
Than the darling of victory 

'Mid the bray of the rabble's praises. 

I would rather ride 
On the wings inside. 

Whither hoofs and horns come not after, 
Then take to me Fame for a bride. 

Rouged Fame, with her leer and her 
laughter. 



IS 



MY FAME AND FORTUNE 

I SING home songs, tuning the strings 

To lowly music of the ground ; 
I sing the humble, happy things 
'The seasons bring me, on their round. 

I fellow with the day and night, 

To share their fortune and their fame ; 

Among the names the wild flowers write 
Be mine, or let me have no name. 



i6 



LOVE 



THE MYSTIC KINSHIP 

Not a thing that lives and moves 

But the mystic kinship proves ; 

In the deep, the blue above, 
All the mid-air ways along — 
Hark ! the same eternal song 

Singing on the lips of Love. 

Purl of stream and twirl of leaf — 
There the voice of joy and grief. 
Love's divine, undying art. 

Waving grass and swaying tree, 
Swinging of the star and sea — 
'T is the beating of thy heart. 



19 



WE MAY LOVE 

From the withered, bitter ground 
Every sweet has taken leave ? 

Joy, there 's none of sight or sound, 
Naught to do but sit and grieve? 

Look — the blue ! bent close above, 

Close above ; 

While it hovers we may love 

We may love. 



20 



THE HOUR SUPREME 

On Nature's round 

The stillness passes into sound ; 

Which is most musical, 

Song or the interval 

When the silence stirs, to be 

A voice, a melody ? 

On Nature's way 

From out the dawning comes the day ; 

Which would the nice eye choose, 

The noon-gold or the hues 

When the shadow of the night 

Wakes, smiling into light ? 

Beauty is bride 

In midsummer or at springtide ? 

In June her solsticy 

Or when the pale mists be, 

When the clod feels some warm power 

At work, and lo, a flower ! 

21 



THE HOUR SUPREME 

Ay, when is bliss 
The sweetest that it ever is ? 
When the loved one is at rest 
Upon the lover's breast, 
Or when he first may dare 
To dream he feels her there ? 



22 



WHEN LOVE COMES 

Hast seen the morn, the first light in his 

eyes, 
Look loveliness along the sullen skies ? 
Hast marked spent day, slow journeying, 

backward turn, 
Though, one by one, the stars begin to burn ? 
Hast seen the dream-shapes, pale with win- 
ter yet, 
Warming wood-spaces for the violet ? 
Hast heard the spring-song on the wild 

March air, 
And all the world 's a lover listening there ? 
Hast heard the lay the bush-bird long did 

keep. 
Only, at last, to sing it in his sleep ? 
Hast heard the brook, where all the boughs 

are old. 
Run under them, lulling the leafy fold ? 
Not yet thou knowest beauty, melody ; 
They wait the day Love comes and speaks 

to thee. 

23 



THE CUP OF BLISS 

The reddest rose, the bluest violet, 

Take them and bray them in a golden jar, 
Drip in the clearest dewdrops ; nor forget 
The wandering odor where old shadows 
are. 
Nor the night-music when the brook is loud. 
Nor that far voice when all the silence 
grieves ; 
Stir these with motion of the one lone cloud, 
Of winds that run along the sunny leaves. 
The last, add glances of the moonlit stream, 
Pink tremblings from the edges of the 
dawn, 
A dash of rapture only youth dare dream, 
And the dear pang it leaves when it is 
gone. 
Pour, now, and drink. Is it the cup of 

bliss ? 
Thou canst not, then, remember love's 
first kiss. 

24 



THE WAY TO LEARN 

The way to learn how well I love you, Dear? 

Ask any of the gossip winds that blow, 

The thousand flowers that burn it where 

they glow. 

The happy hours that hold the summer here ; 

Question the sound, the silence, far and near, 

The brook, which sings it or must cease 

to flow, — 
Ask all the blissful things above, below. 
Their answer, Sweet — of that I have no fear; 
FoT I believe all life below, above. 

Is leagued with love as light is with the 
day. 
That heaven and earth aye take the 
lover's part. 
But should all other voices mock my love. 
You will not heed them ; you will turn 
away. 
Content to have the answer of your 
heart. 

25 



THOU AND I 

Love, I would have thee as the snow is, 
white 
And pure on hilltops of the winter day ; 
Thou shouldst have sovereign rule, the 
spirit sway 
Of beauty, wide and shining as the light. 
Thou shouldst be as the evening star is, 
bright 
As heaven can make it ; all thy summer 

way 
The melodies of June should sing and play 
In thee, the darling of the day and night. 
But I would have thee human first and last. 
One not untouched by trouble, sought of 
sin, 
Thine innocence not accident, but 
choice. 
Fit then my service : I should have no past, 
No future ; newly would my life begin. 
Obedient to the music of thy voice. 
26 



I KEEP THY MEMORY 

I KEEP thy memory as the hilltops hold 
The sun when light has left the valley way ; 
With dream of thee I lengthen out the 
day : 
Nor dark does shut thee out, nor slumber- 
fold. 
Day sinking, up the lovely stars are rolled ; 
The hill forgets the peerless sun in play 
Of feebler fires ; but thou dost with me 
stay : 
My night, my midnight, wears the morn- 
ing gold. 
I keep thy memory, and I count it truth 
That love, once come to men, shall never 
go; 
I keep thy memory, and the world is 
fair. 
Yea, beautiful it is with fadeless youth. 
Loving may be but dreaming. Even so, 
The heaven in my heart, I keep it there. 
27 



LE SONNET D'ARVERS 

A FLAME — an instant, secret, mystic thing — 
Burns in my soul, and shall forever burn. 
The harm is done ; in vain were murmuring ; 
For she that kindled it will never learn 
Whose hand it was. She will not even 
turn 
To me, though to her garment-hem I cling ; 
Nor one of all the days to be will bring 
Me strength to speak to her. I can but 
yearn. 
Albeit God made her tender and so sweet, 
Love sets for naught the music of her feet. 
For naught love follows her with soft com- 
mand ; 
She hears stern duty only, night and day. 
Reading these very verses, she will say, 
" Who is this woman ? " and nowise under- 
stand. 



28 



LOVE AND GRIEF 

WouLDST hear strange music only the 

dreamer knows, 
Breath sweeter than breathing of winds that 

have been with the rose ? 

Wouldst see strange light that deep in the 

shadow plays, 
Wouldst pluck the secret from out the heart 

of the days ? 

Then follow Love and that other who feeds 

on her sweet ; 
Yea, follow Love and Grief, and fall low 

at their feet. 



29 



THE LOST LAMB 

My heart, you happy wandered 

Along the sunny hill, 
All day a-singing, singing. 

As the happy shepherd will. 

The friendly blue of heaven 
Looked on you from above; 

'Twas joyance all for the shepherd 
And the little lambs of love. 

Oh, when the shadows gathered. 
And the damp upon the rock, 

Heart, heart, poor silly shepherd. 
Why did you count the flock ! 



30 



ONE 

One whitest lily, reddest rose, 
None other such the summer knows; 
Of bird or brook one perfect tune, 
And sung is all the sweet of June. 

Once come and gone, the one dear face. 
Forever empty is its place; 
But one far voice the lover hears, 
Calling across the waste of years. 



31 



NAMELESS 

Shalt thou be beauty's dream, her sweetest 

thought ? 
No; thought scarce is ere it is not. 

And dare I make thee love's low melody ? 
Nay ; silence, then no more of thee. 

Shalt thou be morning, wonder of the light? 
No ; day, then shadow of the night. 

And art thou summer's red, unrivalled rose? 
Not that ; love sighs, " How soon it goes ! " 



32 



HOW BAREST THOU WAIT 

Liquid as lies the wave the hilltop lies, 
The rocks are mobile as the breeze that 

strays 
Past them to twirl the dust on summer 
ways; 

The stars, they have the flight of butterflies. 
The sun is as the ember in the grate : 
Once more I cry, Love me ! How darest 
thou wait? 



33 



MY SHEPHERDESS 

She lives, she lives up in the hills, 
Where mists and eagles are; 

Blithe shepherdess of rocks and rills, 
'Twixt mortal and a star. 

Of acorns is her necklace made. 
And reddest berries found; 

While slender vines, in glossy braid. 
About her brow are bound. 

No fairy foots it half so light, 

A-dancing on the green ; 
Nor curls a sunny cloud so bright. 

The pines and sky between. 

My shepherdess of rocks and rills ! 

We dwell the world above ; 
She lives and loves up in the hills. 

And I live in her love. 



34 



SOMEWHERE 

The weasel thieves in silver suit, 

The rabbit runs in gray ; 
And Pan takes up his frosty flute 

To pipe the cold away. 

The flocks are folded, boughs are bare, 

The salmon take the sea ; 
And O my fair, would I somewhere 

Might house my heart with thee ! 



35 



MY FAIREST FAIR 

There is, they say, no sweetest rose. 
There is no fairest face ; for fancy grows 

Its own deceiver. 
But, right or wrong, what does love care ? 
I say, " World over, only one 's all fair," 

And so believe her. 



36 



A THOUGHT 

Came a little lonely thought ; 

Straight toward my heart 't was flying. 
Out I reached — 't would not be caught ; 

I could hear it sighing. 

Whither bound I cannot say — 

Than thought there 's nothing fleeter — 

But I know, lodge where it may, 
Only love is sweeter. 



37 



DREAM AND A DAY 

How many happy summers yet, 
How many times the bird, the rose, 

Ere 't is to sleep and to forget ? 
There 's never a heart that knows. 

How oft shall come the summer weather 
Along the fields, the greenwood way. 

And lover and loved one be together? 
There 's never a heart can say. 

And ever a heart why should it say ? 

What would love have of joy or sorrow ? 
Love, with its dream, its dream and a day, 

Has never a thought for the morrow. 



38 



AT PARTING 

With tears and kisses let me go. 
Love not too deep 
To kiss and weep, 
That love have many, many ; 
But one love, oh, 
It doth not so ! 

Pale lips it has and tearless eyes ; 
Broken, motionless it lies, 
A flower amid death's mysteries, 
A rose that dies. 
With tears and kisses let me go ; 

Such love have many, many. 
That other love my heart would know. 
Or know not any. 



39 



FATE'S TABLET 

You must have known her had you seen her 

face. 

That moment turned away, as by she 

passed ; 

It must have told you, that confiding grace, 

Of one could not but love you to the last. 

And had you heard her voice you must have 
known 
She little talked and softly all that day ; 
Something, perhaps, was on the June winds 
blown 
To her could not but love you aye and 
aye. 

You did not see her, and you did not hear; 

She saw not, heard not you as by she 

passed ; 

And it once more was written, Tear to year^ 

'Two shall go^ seeking^ seeking to the last. 

40 



TIME AND THE HOUR 

One brave look, holding hers — 
There where the warm noontide 

Washed all the long walk through the firs — 
Fate had been defied. 

One low word slowly said, 

With Nature's own sure art. 
His had not been a bended head, 

Hers a broken heart. 

Stern, unreturning hours 

Came with that summer day. 
They came and went : love's path of flowers 

Was a desert way. 



41 



BLEEDING HEART AND 
BROKEN WINGS 

Few listened to the lonely singer's lay. 
Our life, it is a little day ; 
He sang, and vanished in the valley dim, 
Where, all in vain, praise followed him. 

Our life, it is a bitter day. 
One gave for naught a loving heart away ; 
They brought white lilies, but too late for her 
To see how like herself they were. 

Heaven-taught, the maiden loves, the poet 

sings. 
Dear bleeding heart, poor broken wings ! 
So has it ever been through all the years, — 
For song the sorrow, for love the tears. 



42 



LIFE 



CALM 

Hast thou been down into the deep of 
thought 

Until the things of time and sense are 
naught ; 

Hast sunk — sunk — in that tideless under- 
deep 

Fathoms below the little reach of sleep ? 

Hast visited the depth where he must go 
That would the secrecies of being know ? 
Hast been a guest where, lost to smiles 

and tears, 
The quiet eye looks on beyond the years ? 

Hast thou been down into the deep of 

thought 
Beloved of prophets, where their work is 

wrought ? 
Then doubt is whelmed in hope, and care 

in calm. 
The tumult melts in music of a psalm. 
45 



THE GRACIOUS FAILURE 

In the poet's world, shamed is his art 
Before the vibrant silence at his heart. 
And well it is that, spurning perfect speech. 
Plays the wild beauty always out of reach ; 

Once by some god-poet caught and bound 
The wavering light, the subtile pulse of 

sound. 
That ere it come is gone, — what singer, 

then. 
Would ever dare to lift his voice again ! 



46 



THE POETS OF OLD ISRAEL 

Old Israel's readers of the stars, 
I love them best. Musing, they read. 
In embers of the heavenly hearth. 
High truths were never learned below. 
They asked not of the barren sands. 
They questioned not that stretch of death ; 
But upward from the humble tent 
They took the stairway of the hills ; 
Upward they climbed, bold in their trust. 
To pluck the glory of the stars. 
Faith falters, knowledge does not know. 
Fast, one by one, the phantoms fade ; 
But that strange light, unwavering, lone, 
Grasped from the lowered hand of God, 
Abides, quenchless forevermore. 



47 



« IS THERE ANY WORD FROM 
THE LORD?" 

(Jeremiah xxxvii, 17) 

Daylong a craven cry goes up : 

" The people drink a bitter cup, 

They languish, gathering stones for bread. 

Brave faith is fallen, the old hope dead." 

The babblers will not cease : 

" The people have no peace." 

Trust is outworn, naught can be done. 

There is no good under the sun. 

The blue sky fades, the waters fail, 

The strong hand shakes, the warriors wail ; 

Daylong the craven cry, 

" The people faint, they die." 

Turn to the wall our faces, we 
That vanquish air and earth and sea ! 
The sun shines yonder ; somewhere glows 
The old first hope, bright as it rose, 
48 



IS THERE ANY WORD 

The hope whose accent high 
Shall brand this whining lie. 

If doubts, risen idols of the Nile, 

Again the hallowed land defile, 

Thunder yet clothes green Horeb's crown; 

Let Sinai speak, and smite them down. 

Life nests yet in the clod, 

Israel has still his God. 

You, seers and prophets, poets, may 
See yet the good gold in the day. 
Still red at heart, arise, arise ! 
Sing back the blue into the skies. 
The green into the grass. 
And bid the phantoms pass. 

Once more, blest messengers, declare 
That love still lives, that life is fair ; 
Say knowledge knows not, trust is all. 
And crush these wise which writhe and 

crawl ; 
Wake, wake, your strains of fire ! 
God 's for us — strike the lyre ! 
49 



GREAT IS TO-DAY 

Out on a world that has run to weed! 

The great tall corn is still strong in his seed ; 

Plant her breast with laughter, put song in 
your toil, 

The heart is still young in the old mother- 
soil : 

Never bluer heavens nor greener sod 

Since the round world rolled from the hand 
of God. 

The clouds keep their promise ; believe, and 

sow ! 
There are sweet banks yet where the south 

winds blow ; 
The sun still plunges and mounts again. 
The new moons fill when the old moons 

wane : 
There 's sunshine and bird-song, and red 

and white clover. 
And love lives yet, skies under and over. 
50 



GREAT IS TO-DAY 

Is wisdom dead now Solon *s no more ? 
Are the children done playing at the Muses' 

door? 
While your Plato, your Shakespeare, goes 

down to the tomb, 
His brother stirs in the good mother-womb ; 
There 's dreaming of daisies and running of 

brooks, 
Yes, life enough left to put in the books. 

Out on a world that has run to weed ! 

The lusty hours, as of old they breed. 

And the man child thrives. For your Jacob 
no tears ; 

Rachel is there, at the end of the years. 

The waving of wheat, of the tall strong corn ! 

His heart-blood is water who wanders for- 
lorn. 



51 



THE FALLEN 

(In Memoriam, May 30) 



Toll the slow bell, 
Toll the low bell, 

Toll, toll. 

Make dole 
For them that wrought so well. 

Come, come, 

With muffled drum 
And wailing lorn 
Of dolorous horn 
The solemn measure slow 
Toll and beat and blow ; 
Put out all glories that adorn 
The sweet, unheeding morn. 

Come, come; 

To the muffled drum 
And the sad horns 

Bring flowers for them that took the thorns. 
5^ 



THE FALLEN 

Knell, knell ; 
Let the slow bell 

Be struck and the troubled drum ; 

Come, come. 
The solemn measure slow 
Toll and beat and blow ; 

Rebuke this bright, unpitying light. 
The solemn measure slow 
Toll and beat and blow 

For them our beauty and our might 
Gone on the unreturning way. 

For them that took the night 
That we might have the day. 

II 

Hark ! voices, joyous voices break 

From the green martyr-mounds : " Wake, 

wake ! 
The Lord our God, once more He saith, 
1'his hand made all — // made not death. 
Let the blithe bells ring, 
The May air sing ; 

Strike the quick drum. 

Smite sorrow dumb ; 
53 



THE FALLEN 

Blow the glad horn, 
This glad May morn ; 
Lift the valiant measures high 
Of the proud earth and sky 

For them that tent 

Beyond the firmament, 
And on the field of light 
Still gather to the fight. 

" Blow the glad horn. 
This glad May morn ; 

Stanch, undaunted measures blow. 

Gathering courage as they go, — 
Valiant measures high, 
Carolled of earth and sky ; 
Set the bright, triumphal stave 

For them that fought so well, 

That faltered not nor fell ; 
For them and all whereso yon colors 

wave. 
Unto the four winds given 
And the proud earth and heaven. 
There believe and battle they 
Whose face is toward the day, 
54 



THE FALLEN 

The ever-living light, 
Where is no night, 
Where is no death nor shadow of the 
grave." 



55 



THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 

1 THOUGHT it spoke to me, 

The lingering spirit of the giant tree 

Fallen on the western shore, — 
The redwood Saul with fourteen centuries 
hoar : 

" In this huge husk I yet 
Abide — Who may the old home soon 
forget ? — 

" Abide long as I may, 
Dreaming my dreams until they fade away. 

" The morning I did push 
My twigs the little height of yonder 
bush, 

" Ruddy Justinian saw. 
Busied betwixt, the bishops and his Law ; 
56 



THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 

" Mahomet knew those skies, 
Lithe-limbed, the fire of prophets in his 
eyes. 

" I can recall the day 
The Frank set forth upon his warrior's 
way — 

" He that could Caesar be 
And Alfred too, the flower of empery ; — 

*' The day great Saladin 
Threw open Judah's gate, and entered in, 

" When Christian lance and sword 
Dealt all that death, nor broke the alien 
horde. 

" But there were happier things 
And lovelier mingled in my murmurings : 

" The woodland wail divine 
Of Dante's grief — Dante, the human 
pine ; 

57 



THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 

" Spring's earliest, sweetest note 

She tossed in air from English Chaucer's 
throat ; 

" News of the fateful fleet 
Sailing to lead all peoples to my feet ; 

" Tales of the Titan lone, 
Writing his poems in the Roman stone ; 

" Of him, the wonder-child. 
On whom Beauty and all the Muses 
smiled, 

" Whom Nature loved so well 
She must her dearest secret to him tell, 

" And wish she had yet more 
To give ; (she did not know her heart be- 
fore ; 

" Man knew not his ; for when 
Her Shakespeare sang the world grew 
young again;) 
58 



THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 

* Of him whose symphony, 
Rhythmic with swingings of the star and 



sea. 



" Embroiled in blank mid-air 
Heaven's host and Hell's, nor did too 
greatly dare ; 

" Of Pisa's son who read 
The Open Book, undaunted whither led, 

" Charting the haughty way 
Newton would follow in the broader day. 

" Again and yet again 
The burdened wind. There dawned a 
morning when 

"It said thy sires cried out 
To the free hills ; I heard the answering 
shout — 

" Well freed thy land ; the sea 
Rolls all her waves 'twixt it and tyranny — 
59 



THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 

" I caught a kindred cry 
From France the beautiful ; she hung the 
sky 

" With horrors while she thrust 
Oppression through and trod him in the 
dust. 

" Now 't was, the Furies ran 
And loosed, hawk-beaked and clawed, the 
Corsican. 

" Soon drooped that phantom wing ; 
But hark ! proud Life hears yet her 
Goethe sing, 

" Hears Wordsworth ; still does ease 
Her heart with those high, wordless melo- 
dies 

" Beyond the poet's flight, — 
Beethoven's measures, music's utter 
might. 



60 



THE VOICE OF THE SEQUOIA 

" Again and yet again 
The burdened wind. One of the new-time 
men, 

" Goodly and tall and fair 
He stood, trusting the hand that planted 
there ; 

" He took the upper wind 
I knew — Lincoln, the cedar of his kind. 

" Those sad new days ye know. 
They fade from me ; and it is better so." 

The voice fell fainter now, 
As when on summer eves it fails the 
bough ; 

No further did it say. 

But, sighing, drifted with the dreams away. 



6i 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 

First of the deedful, giant few, 
So high in Freedom's grace he grew, 
To-day his voice she leans to hear 
Across a hundred noisy year ; 
The virtues meet in him to vie. 

As, in autumn weather. 

Sunset colors gather 
Down the western sky. 

Divulging, ere they pass, 

The dyes of which the daylight was. 

The lawless gods no more allot 

As in old Homer's tales ; 
According as ourselves have wrought, 

So hang the honest scales : 
Our brown-haired, blue-eyed Saul 
Of battle, stalwart, tall. 

Must climb, unstayed. 

The heights he made. 
62 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 

August, unfellowed to the last. 
From height to height he passed ; 
The day-star of his race. 
He rose, he shone into his place. 

Stands yet the Father as he stood. 
Full statured, great, sublimely good. 

Before God's face he wrought ; 

It cannot come to naught. 
As fate's was his right hand ; 
He built, and it shall stand. 



63 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

His people called, and forth he came 
As one that answers to his name ; 
Nor dreamed how high his charge. 
His privilege how large, — 

To set the stones back in the wall 
Lest the divided house should fall. 
The shepherd who would keep 
The flocks, would fold the sheep, 

Humbly he came, yet with the mien 
Presaging the immortal scene, — 
Some battle of His wars 
Who sealeth up the stars. 

No flaunting of the banners bold 
Borne by the haughty sons of old ; 
Their blare, their pageantries. 
Their goal, — they were not his. 
64 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

We called, he came; he came to crook 
The spear into the pruning-hook, 
To toil, untimely sleep. 
And leave a world to weep. 



65 



THE MAN WITH THE HOE 

(A Reply to Edwin Markham) 

" Let us a little permit Nature to take her own way j she better 
understands her own affairs than we." — Montaigne. 

Nature reads not our labels, " great " and 

« small " ; 
Accepts she one and all 

Who, striving, win and hold the vacant 

place : 
All are of royal race. 

Him, there, rough-cast, with rigid arm and 

limb. 
The Mother moulded him, 

Of his rude realm ruler and demigod. 
Lord of the rock and clod. 

With Nature is no " better " and no " worse," 
On this bared head no curse. 
66 



THE MAN WITH THE HOE 

Humbled it is and bowed ; so is he crowned 
Whose kingdom is the ground. 

Diverse the burdens on the one stern road 
Where bears each back its load ; 

Varied the toil, but neither high nor low. 
With pen or sword or hoe, 

He that has put out strength, lo, he is 

strong. 
Of him with spade or song 

Nature but questions, " This one, shall he 

stay ? " 
She answers " Yea " or " Nay," 

" Well, ill, he digs, he sings " ; and he bides 

on. 
Or shudders, and is gone. 

Strength shall he have, the toiler, strength 

and grace. 
So fitted to his place 
67 



THE MAN WITH THE HOE 

As he leaned there, an oak where sea winds 

blow. 
Our brother with the hoe. 

No blot, no monster, no unsightly thing. 
The soil's long-lineaged king ; 

His changeless realm, he knows it and com- 
mands ; 
Erect enough he stands. 

Tall as his toil. Nor does he bow unblest ; 
Labor he has, and rest. 

Need was, need is, and need will ever be 
For him and such as he. 

Cast for the gap, with gnarled arm and 

limb. 
The Mother moulded him; 

Long wrought, and moulded him with 

mother's care. 
Before she set him there. 
68 



THE MAN WITH THE HOE 

And aye she gives him, mindful of her own, 
Peace of the plant, the stone ; 

Yea, since above his work he may not rise, 
She makes the field his skies. 

See ! she that bore him, and metes out the 

lot. 
He serves her. Vex him not 

To scorn the rock whence he was hewn, the 

pit 
And what was digged from it ; 

Lest he no more in native virtue stand. 
The earth-sword in his hand, 

But follow sorry phantoms to and fro. 
And let a kingdom go. 



69 



A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME 



FREEDOM 

Freedom ! have we won it yet ? 
To win it did our fathers set 
Their strength, and build the home, the 
State, 

That, faithful, we 
Should have the mastery over fate. 

Forever free. 

Yon flag, no hand dare tear it down ; 
This proud, this high is our renown : 
The nations look on us, and cry, — 

" Stanchly they hold 
The heritage of liberty, 

The faith of old ! " 

The flattering nations look from far. 
Freemen we seem, yet slaves we are, 

70 



A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME 

Ironed with hateful gyves of greed ; 

We cramp the place 
Of him our brother, in his need, 

We grind his face. 

On freemen's ground the gold unearned 
Is gold unowned ; be justice spurned, 
Freedom holds off from low and high : 

On freemen's sod 
Whoso oppresses poverty 

Reproaches God. 

Freedom ! won not yet, not yet. 
Freemen deal truly, nor forget 
That, now and in all days to be. 

Throughout the earth 
Only one power can make men free, — 

Unselfish worth. 



II 

THE GOLD OF HAVILAH 

If reign you will in Havilah, 

That land of plenty is your own ; 

71 



A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME 

But while you gather into bags 

The gold, the banded onyx stone, 
Masters, beware 
The high words there, 
The black space writ across with fire, — 
The laborer is worthy of his hire. 

Yellow the gold in Havilah, 

The gold is yellow and is good ; 

Lo, you may build of it your house, 
May give of it for roof and food ; 

But take you care 

He has his share. 

Hungry in body and in soul. 

Outworn with digging for you in the hole. 

Mad, phantom kings ! strive you to stand 
As bywords and as things for mirth ? 

Your kingdom 's broken and plucked up ; 
Long since He portioned out the earth. 

And heaven too. 

What would you do ? 

Not all your gold can buy that trust, — 

He raiseth up the poor from out the dust. 
72 



A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME 
III 

THE HYSSOP IN THE WALL 

You 'd be a taller thing, 

You shrubs who grow not to the goodly 
tree. 
Wherefore ? In low leaves, as in high, birds 
sing 
Their summer melody. 

Never since time began 

A stalk yet for the impartial light too 
low. 
June greens the meanest bush ; the hum- 
blest man, 
Her warm winds on him blow. 

Shrubs be, and there be trees. 

But this stands fast : shine down the sun 
and star 
On these and those. What matter, those or 
these. 
Since all God's plants they are ? 



73 



A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME 

You that would cast more shade, 

Remember who it was that wrought you 
small ; 

He, and no other, He the cedar made, 
The hyssop in the wall. 

Blame not him at your side. 

Him with the braver root and prouder 
limb ; 
Lift your bold mouths to heaven, and call 
awide ; 
The pattern is from Him. 

Call, but first know that ills 

Are every man's, as marrow in his 
bone ; 
That the Hand from one cup the measure 
spills. 
Be it of bread or stone ; 

Know that all 's poured for all ; 

Alike for sweetest tree of field or wood 
And you, the bitter hyssop in the wall, — 

The evil and the good. 

74 



A TRILOGY FOR THIS TIME 

This learned, it may draw nigher 

To mortals then, the trustful prophet's 
morn 
When shall come up the myrtle from the 
brier, 
The fir-tree for the thorn. 



75 



ON A PICTURE OF LINCOLN 

I READ once more this care-worn, patient 
face, 

And learn anew that sorrow is the dower 
Of him that sinks himself to lift his race 

Into the seat of peace and power. 

How beautiful the homely features grow. 
How soft the light from out the mild, sad 
eyes. 
The gleam from deeps of grief the soul 
must know. 
To be so great, — so kind, so wise ! 



76 



EMERSON 

Plato come back to turn a Yankee phrase, 
Franklin recalled to lord the world of 

soul — 
So came he, so he journeyed, sane and 
whole. 
The Concord pilgrim on the upper ways. 
Born to her lap, his heart was ever May's. 
In vernal terms he read to us the scroll 
Of time ; he chanted from the magic roll: 
We knew the joy and beauty of the days. 
He read to us until his sight grew dim — 
Blinded with brightness from beyond the 
sun — 
Then followed he the glory from afar. 
But not until a race had learned of him 
The murmurs of eternity that run 

Through human hearts, the blossom 
and the star. 



11 



SOCRATES 

Broad, squat, flat-nosed, thick-lipped and 
onion-eyed. 

Such the teacher's form, his satyr's face, 
As forth he stood, and swept the shams aside 

In Athens' market-place. 

Great souls go not as water and as wind ; 

Still the world that strangest figure sees. 
His, — bodied right and reason, sire of mind, 

God's motley, Socrates. 



78 



THE IMMORTALITY OF MIGHT 

The fortress proud, the haughty wall 
With frowning gate — they shake, they fall; 
Kings, kingdoms — as a dream they pass. 
They are as wind-waves on the grass. 

Passes the last remembrancer 

To tell us that the mighty were ; 

In death's one trench shall Shakespeare lie, 

The common night close Caesar's eye. 

Believe it not. Once might has birth. 
It dwells forever in the earth. 
Does glory flame, there Shakespeare is ; 
Caesar strives yet — that wreath is his. 



79 



THE SPHINX 

It is now forty years ago 

I stretched to her mine empty hand, 

Pilgrim in that waste land ; 
"Teach me," I prayed, "make me to know, 

Thou silent sitter in the sand ! " 
From out the gray waste, there, 
Naught but the old unfathomed stare. 

To-day I went, as long ago — 

My hair as gray as was the sand — 
A gift-rose in my hand. 

" Speak not," I said ; " I need not know. 
Does this aught understand ? " 

Shallowed the fathomless stare ; 

She smiled, the red thing was so fair. 



80 



THE HAND 

Lo, it locks 

The hill flower in the rocks, 
Skeins the willow. 
Manes the billow. 
Sets the cedar straight. 
Paints the she-bird's mate, 
Hangs the apple on its tree, 
Steers the cloud-ship on her sea. 
Fires the dewdrop and, afar. 
The haughty rondure of the star, 
Gives the loosed wind his track. 
Brings the summer back. 
Binds the morning's crown, 
And lets the darkness down : 
So doth the Hand, the Power, 
That giveth thee thine hour. 



8i 



THE VALLEY OF SHADOW 



AT THE SIGN OF THE SPADE 

On and on, in sun and shade, 
Footing over flat and grade, 
King and beggar, foe and friend. 
Come, at last, to the journey's end ; 
Stop man and maid 
At the Sign of the Spade. 

Sage or zany, slave or blade, 
Drab or lady, the role is played ; 
Over grass and under sun 
Past one hostel trudges none : 
Stop man and maid 
At the Sign of the Spade. 



85 



TO DUSTY NOTHING 

WouLDST thou the kingliest head of old 

renown ? 
The desert cubs toy with his tumbled crown. 

Wouldst thou the proudest fane of Greece 

or Rome? 
Sand and the wild-beast foot are on its 

dome. 

The sum and top of grandeur and of grace, 
Mark them, — yon blots upon the great 
gray face. 



86 



TEARS 

Not in the time of pleasure 

Hope doth set her bow ; 
But in the sky of sorrow. 

Over the vale of woe. 

Through gloom and shadow look we 

On beyond the years : 
The soul would have no rainbow 

Had the eyes no tears. 



87 



TO HOPE 

Ah, Hope, no more ! 
From your sweet, false art 
Set free my heart ; 

For I know that the flake will follow 
On the airy way of the swallow. 
That the drift will lie where the lily blows. 
And the icicle hang from the stem of the 
rose : 

O Hope — no more ! 

Nay, Hope, once more ! 
With your olden smile 
Once more beguile ; 

Though I know that the flake must follow 
On the airy way of the swallow. 
That the drift must lie where the lily blows. 
And the icicle hang from the stem of the 
rose : 

O Hope — once more ! 



88 



I NEED NOT HEAR 

I NEED not hear the moan they make, 
The winds on hill and shore ; 

I need not hear the hearts that break 
For joys that are no more. 

Call not, O naked, wailing Fall, 

O man's unhappy race ! 
One drifting leaf, it tells me all ; 

*T is all in one pale face. 



89 



THE EAGLE 

I SAW a wild bird on a rock, 

By sun-fire tried and tempest-shock ; 

Rider and tamer of the wind, 

A king among his kingly kind. 

Dim as the dim and quiet night, 
He sat there, folded in his might ; 
Still as the rock, so still and gray. 
He sat the solemn hours away. 

" Hears he," I mused, " the melody, 
The dream-sound, in the mountain tree ; 
And does remembered glory thrill 
That proudest spirit of the hill ? " 

Round his shut wings and humbled head, 
A voice from out the silence said, — 
"The eagky when the day is done, 
Forgets he faced the flaming sun. 



90 



TO THE BITTER END 

He shed no tears, he made no moan ; 
He bore his burden; mute, endured the 
years. 
Eating his bread as it were not a stone : 
He murmured not nor faltered, shed no 
tears. 

He toiled with neither hope nor plan ; 
Ambition masked in tame humility 
That yokes for equal draught the ox with 
man. 
None heard him speak again of what 
might be. 

Not once from him a craven cry ; 

Patient as are the cattle of the stall. 
Dumb as the tumbled clods that on him lie. 

So patient, dumb, he toiled, so did he fall. 



91 



THE DRAWING OF THE LOT 

One comes with kind, capacious hold, 
But through his fingers slips the gold; 
He with the talons, his the hands 
That rake up riches as the sands. 

One fats as does the ox unbroke ; 

Never on his red neck the yoke. 

The pale, stooped thing, with heart and 

brain. 
On him the weight of toil and pain. 

One longs, — she with the full warm breast, 
But no babe's head does on it rest ; 
On some starved slant a fool thought fair 
Love's boon is thrust, and suckled there. 



92 



THE LOST SOUL 

A LONE soul came to Heaven's hard gate, 
Low at the warder's feet she fell ; 

Sobbing, she said she had not knocked so 
late 
But for the many roads to Hell. 

Stroking her bowed, unmothered head. 
Up spoke the good old warder gray : 

" This child, too fair, high up let her be led. 
Past them that never lost the way." 



93 



THE BODY AND THE SOUL 

I 

Pure spirit, pure and strangely beautiful. 
What body fled'st thou ? Where in all this 

dull, 
Unlovely world was there such loveliness 
That thou couldst wear it for thy fleshly 

dress ? 

Before this hour thou must have looked on 

me; 
As men look on old friends I look on thee. 

It cannot be. Far-wandering music blown 
From heaven thy voice is. In what garden 

grown 
Wert thou, too lovely blossom, in what 

vale ? 
Who wert thou ere the flushing cheek went 

pale ? 

94 



THE BODY AND THE SOUL 

"The quick winds change, and change the fields 

and sky ; 
Look on me, look ! mayst know me by and by. 

II 

What hate dispatched thee out of Hell 
To mock me ? Shapeless, smoky mass, 
Thou hideous mist, I curse thee : pass ! 

I^ime was when I was welcome to thy breast ; 
I knew it as the wild bird knows her nest. 

Thou liest ! never on that fell 

The eyes that met not instant blight. 

Pass ! pass ! blot on God's light ! 

Ay, through the portal whence this hour I 

stole ; 
Open thy breast to me, take back thy soul. 



95 



POOR LITTLE JANE 

What shall be done with little Jane, 
Little Jane who has lost her lover ? 

With the sun and rain of Lovers' Lane 
Green is his grassy cover. 

She has no joy of the summer sun, 

And fearful things she sees 
At the gate in the lane when day is done, 

And there 's wail in the faded trees. 

She cannot laugh, she cannot weep. 
And alas ! that look in her eye. 

Poor little Jane ! 'T is but the sheep, 
And she says the white dead go by. 



96 



LITTLE JUMP FOR JOY 

I HAD a playmate when a boy, 
His name was Little Jump for Joy; 
When I was seven he, too, was seven. 
He said that he was born in Heaven. 

His yellow hair was very curly. 
We were together late and early ; 
I thought, at least in summer weather. 
We two should always be together. 

But on a day long, long ago. 
He left me — how, I hardly know; 
Much as the sunlight leaves the day. 
He shook his locks, and slipt away. 



97 



THE PAST 

Hast heard those voices low that fare, 
Unpiloted, along the heights of air, — 

Far melodies, too faint for light, 
Alone on upper pathways of the night ? 

The past calls in so sweet a tone 
These strive and die, nor make it once 
their own. 



98 



MY CHILDREN 

Dear buds of flesh and blood, 
So dear, so dear to me, 

I dread the thoughts that dwell 
Upon the years to be. 

More kind the early blight 
Than are the ripening suns ; 

To blossom is to fall, 

My sweet, unfolding ones. 

'Only the children's hearts 
Go down, unhurt, to rest ! " 

I hear the voice, and hold 
You closer to my breast. 



99 



AT A GRAVE 
I 

(In Memoriam S. P. C.) 

As out of the dark the stars, 
Broke forth the heavenly bars 
Of passion strong, — 
The wild bird's song, 
Borne, wave on wave, 
From a branch above a grave. 

Mute heart, you, listening, heard 
The music of the bird ; 
'T was in your cry, — 
" A song had I, 
But oh, I know 
Of the dead asleep below ! " 

II 
Oft I call, he nothing hears ; 
Foolish is grief as death is wise. 
The white peace chides me where he 
lies, — 
" None would know again the years." 

100 



IN MEMORIAM J. V. C. 



THE SHADOW CAME 

The Shadow came ; 

All the gentle, grieving quiet 
Trembled with her name. 

Dark is her door ; 

Calls and calls the grieving quiet, 
Answered nevermore. 

II 

AT A GRAVE 

Beckoned the Comer Dim, 

And she must follow him 

To that far field whence summer never 

goes. 
But ever on the rose-tree dreams the 

rose. 
To earth she was so dear. 
All pure things linger near. 
As if she still were here ; 

lOI 



IN MEMORIAM J. V. C. 

The grasses, glad 
With motion once she had. 
Stir them and wave 
Upon her grave. 

Ill 

BY THE WESTERN SEA 

The circling sea-birds to the ledge have flown. 

The sun is sinking in the western sea ; 
'Tis not the loneliness nor yet the moan 

Makes this far shore so full of pain for me. 
I could be still the while these waves beat on, 
I could have comfort of this wild unrest, 
But for a radiant spirit, faded, gone. 

Like the soft color lost, now, in the west. 
The solitary dusk, the troubled wave, 

The wind, the growing sorrow of the deep, 
These would not hurt my heart but for the 
grave 
Here, where they left her when she fell 
asleep. 
I stand beside it, and I feel her hands 
Reach to me. Oh, these lone, unknow- 
ing sands ! 

102 



IN MEMORIAM J. V. C. 

IV 

ASLEEP IN THE WEST 

They led her East, they led her West, 
She followed where they led ; 

The way, it ran toward rest. 
The one untroubled bed. 

To her pale cheek the color came. 
Whether on hill or wave, — 

The flower with brighter flame 
The nearer to the grave. 

They led her East, they led her West, 
She followed meek and still ; 

The way, it ran toward rest — 
She sleeps upon the hill. 

Sometimes I think that Nature knows. 

Her native western skies. 
The warm wind and the rose 

Remember where she lies. 



103 



THE WHITE BLOSSOM 

It was in a still place of graves. 
I asked the wind, whose faint dream-waves 
Followed the mounds along, " What mean- 
ing has 
This flowret gladding all the grass. 
This loved-one of the light, 
Rooted in death-dark and long night ? " 

And the wind said : "Two things men lay 

In death's unending night away, — 

Their joys and sorrows. Sorrows I let sleep, 

But the dear joys no grave may keep ; 

I lure them back. They know 

My breath, they lean the way I blow." 



104 



UNTIL THE EVENING 

No help in all the stranger-land, 
O fainting heart, O failing hand ? 

A morning and a noon. 

Evening cometh soon. 

The way is endless, friendless ? No ; 
God sitteth high to see below ; 

A morning and a noon. 

Evening cometh soon. 

Look yonder on the purpling West ; 
Erelong the glory and the rest. 

A morning and a noon. 

Evening cometh soon. 



105 



NO LONGER WITH THE YEARS 

No hue of early Spring, 

When first the fields and trees are fair, 
Is beauteous as the shimmering 

In Autumn's yellow hair. 

No bird may build her nest 

Where Summer puts her glory on. 

But silence comes, a gentler guest. 
When leaves and song are gone. 

No light in loved one's eye. 

No eloquence on lover's tongue. 

Dwells tenderly as thoughts that lie 
Dim memories among. 

No dream, 'neath sun or star. 
No gift of laughter or of tears. 

Is sweet as the sleep of them that are 
No longer with the years. 



1 06 



THE HEART OF NATURE 

SPRING AND SUMMER 
MORNING AND EVENING 



THE INFORMAL COURTIER 

Courtier, in unpretending dress 
Of all-excelling idleness. 
No liegeman struts that can outshine 
Me, in this good old garb of mine. 

Young whirlwinds always ask me where 
They turn round dances in the air ; 
And I am masker on the green 
When firefly lanterns light the scene. 

The squirrel, sharp in tooth and eye. 
Salutes me as I saunter by ; 
Yes, ere the robin starts her nest 
She asks which bough I think the best. 

Oft am I hid with bats at noon, 
Abroad with owls at rise of moon ; 
With wary hare and sleeky mole 
I am the same congenial soul. 
109 



THE INFORMAL COURTIER 

I take the breezes by the arm, 
And tramp at will my neighbor's farm ; 
Herself I serve, without a care, 
Her Highness of the Open Air. 



no 



AT THE HYLA'S CALL 

The things the sun and the south wind do 
When the green o* the year is peeping 

through, 
And Joy is abroad, and the dancing hours 
Know only the clocks of the leaves and 

flowers ! 
When the squirrel-cups are brimming with 

rain. 
When blackbirds are come and the needly 

grain ; 
When the ribbon-snake slips from his dismal 

house 
To the nest of the bird and the nest of the 

mouse ; 
In the thick of the meadow and greenwood 

smells, 
Of the minstrelsy by the willowed wells ; 
By the brook, and the bridge of lichened 

log, 
With the darting trout and the vaulting frog ; 
III 



AT THE HYLA'S CALL 

By the upland bunches the rabbit knows 
Ere the great sun comes, when the great sun 

goes; 
Along warm walls where ivies bind 
And braid the sunshine and weave the 

wind, — 
It 's to rouse and go forth at the hyla's call, 
It 's to learn the sweet secrets, one and all : 
It 's to follow him with the locks love-curled. 
To wander with Joy to the end of the world. 



112 



THE NEST IN THE VINE 

Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! 

Wind in with every thread 
The shine of the earth and sky ; 

Twine heaven's blue and the rose's red, 
And the wind-sweet singing by. 

Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! 

The lustre from east to west. 
The melody line by line. 

Braid it, shade it, into the nest. 
The home in the heart of the vine. 

Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! 

All happy color and sound. 
By love's own cunning curled. 

Wind it, bind it, round and round ; 
Build in the bliss of the world. 



113 



THE BEECHES BRIGHTEN 

The beeches brighten for young May, 
And young grass shines along her way ; 
Joy bares to her his sunny head. 
Leaned over brook and blossom-bed; 
The smell of Spring fills all the air. 
And wooing birds make music there. 
There 's naught of sound or sight to grieve. 
From quiring morn to quiet eve ; 
Only the shadow thought will cast, — 
This loveliness, it cannot last. 
The merry field, the ringing bough, 
Will silent be as voiceful now ; 
Chill, warning winds will hither roam, 
The Summer's children hasten home ; 
That blue solicitude of sky 
Bent over beauty doomed to die. 
Ere long will, pitying, witness here, 
The yielded glory of the year. 



114 



THE OLD TREE 

Yon shape, so pitiful, once stood. 
The Saul of his proud brotherhood ; 
Tempest, at last, and length of days 
Have mastered ; lo, the king decays. 

Time was when gravely to his shade, 
At noon, the lordlier cattle strayed ; 
And from his top, at morn, rang clear 
The bravest song of all the year. 

He sighs, is silent, sighs again, — 
" One fate we have, O sons of men ! 
These empty hands upheld in air. 
It is your own last reach of prayer." 



115 



FANCY'S SONG 

Hear fancy's song; 

The warm day long. 

Like her melody 

No other sound may be ; 

Not the luscious croon 

Of sunny noon, 

Not the lullaby 

When the day winds die. 

And the blossoms rest 

On the meadow's breast. 

And the stopt clouds He 

White asleep 

In the deep 
Of the silent sky. 

Hear fancy's song; 

The warm night long, 
So sweet her melody. 
For her dear sake 
The roses wake, 

ii6 



FANCY'S SONG 

And the pale waves lie and glisten, 
And the quiet sea-shells listen, 
Nor sing any more of the sea. 



117 



THE WISE PIPER 

When other birds sing not, 
Rifting the dreary rain. 

Then cheerly, sparrow, you 
Pipe your timely strain. 

A hasty, wayward song, 
Right faulty, I dare say ; 

But who will find it so 
On a rainy day ? 

The critics nod, not you. 
Minstrel of drizzly skies ; 

Sparrow, you know your hour. 
Would we were half as wise ! 



ii8 



THE WOOD-THRUSH 

When lilies by the river fill with sun, 
And banks with clematis are overrun ; 
When winds are weighed with fern-sweet 

from the hill, 
And hawks wheel in the noontide hot and 

still ; 
When thistle-tops are silvered, every one, 
And fly-lamps flicker ere the day is done, — 
Nature bethinks her how to crown these 

things. 
At twilight she decides : the wood-thrush 

sings. 



119 



THE WEEDS 

Men scorn them, but the wiser day 
Looks never from the weeds away. 
They honor him as best they may, 
And so their humble summer goes. 

Sometimes I think the soft winds stay 
With them the longest, in their play, 
And all the sweet things to them say 
They but say over to the rose. 



120 



TO A HUMMING-BIRD 

Voyager on golden air, 

Type of all that 's fleet and fair, 

Incarnate gem, 

Live diadem ! 
Stay, forget lost Paradise, 
Star-bird fallen from happy skies. - 

Vanished ! Earth is not his home. 
Onward, onward must he roam. 

Swift passion-thought. 

In rapture wrought ; 
Issue of the soul's desire. 
Plumed with beauty and with fire. 



121 



SUMMER NOON 

The dust, unlifted, lies as first it lay 
When on his dewy path came up the day ; 

The spider-web stirs not ; on seas of air, 
The thistle-ship, becalmed, rocks idly there ; 

The fern-leaves curl, the wild rose sweetness 

spends 
Rich as at eve the honeysuckle lends ; 

The creeping cattle feed far up the hill, 
The blithest birds have hid, the wood is 
still ; 

On daisied dials, pointing flower to flower, 
The shadow-hands have reached the golden 
hour. 



122 



AUGUST 

Mute the ferny woodland ways, 
Hushed the merry meadow-lays ; 
Stillness all and heavy haze 
Of the charmed August days. 
In the hollow, on the steep, 
Dwells a silence long and deep ; 
Not the smallest whisper, now, 
Of the secrets of the bough ; 
In his glory hid, alone, 
Sits the hill god on his throne. 



123 



THE WINDS 

We move across the morning lake 

Soon as the dawns begin, 
The evening lamps of gold we break 

When the stars are looking in. 

We wake with morn, and forth we go. 

We follow after day ; 
Like thoughts we wander to and fro, 

Like dreams we pass away. 

We help the brightness where it weaves 
The hill his glittering crown ; 

We come among the valley leaves. 
They flutter up and down. 

We rouse at noon the sleepy reeds. 

And they make melody ; 
We fret the meads, and set the weeds 

A-swinging blissfully. 
124 



THE WINDS 

We linger where the roses are 

When warmth and light are gone ; 

We take their sweet, and bear it far 
To her whose cheek is wan. 

We bring her wilding melody, 

Beyond the singer's art ; 
Sweeter than in the summer tree 

It trembles at her heart. 

The living meet us, whither led, 
We greet them as we blow ; 

We bend the grasses on the bed 
Of them that never know. 



125 



THE WIND 

The yellow fox 

Has his bed in the rocks ; 

The brown bird, in the tree 

Her nest has she ; 

But the wind, come forth 

Of south and north. 

Of east and west. 

Where shall he rest? 

The snake, the eft. 
Slips into the cleft ; 
The marmot sleeps sound 
In the under-ground; 
But the wind of the hill 
Is wandering still ; 
And the wind of the sea. 
When sleepeth he ? 

The clouds of the air, 
They slumber there ; 
126 



THE WIND 

Flowers droop the head, 
And the leaves lie dead ; 
But the wind, the wind, 
What rest shall he find ? 
When shall he roam 
The wild road home ? 



127 



TO THE EVENING STAR 

A SOUND as of the falling leaves 
While yet the summer dies. 

When the tired wind no longer grieves, 
And only the silence sighs ; 

A grace as of the mist that clings 

In tops of faded trees. 
Or where the gray-beard thistle swings 

In pastures of the bees; 

A scent as of the wilding rose 

Fond Summer's heart must keep. 

In dreamland of the under-snows 
Sweetening all her sleep ; 

A fair face out of memory 

And love's long brooding made. 

Too fair for rude reality, 
Too real for a shade ; — 
128 



TO THE EVENING STAR 

Are these thy gift, lone Winter-star, 
Hung 'twixt the night and day ? 

They come with thee, and from afar; 
Chance up thy golden way. 



129 



MEMORY 

Soft follower of the early star, 

Once more I feel you drawing near. 

Come ! for my evening is not come 
Till you are here. 

You make it — as yourself is made — 
Of loveliest, sweet, untroubled things. 

Fled with love's day. I feel love's night 
Fall from your wings. 



130 



EVENING RAIN 

Twilight down the west 
Wanders once again ; 

With a gentler guest 
Singing in her train. 

Hearkens every breast, 
Every heart and brain : 

Peace, oh, peace is best ! 
Runs the sweet refrain. 

So the world is blest, 
Joy is not nor pain ; 

Love itself learns rest 
Of the summer rain. 



131 



EVENING 



The birds have hid, the winds are low, 
The brake is awake, the grass aglow : 

The bat is the rover. 

No bee on the clover. 

The day is over 
And evening come. 

The heavy beetle spreads her wings, 
The toad has the road, the cricket sings : 

The bat is the rover. 

No bee on the clover. 

The day is over 
And evening come. 

II 

Now is Light, sweet mother, down the 

west, 
With little Song upon her breast ; 
She took him up, all tired with play. 
And fondly bore him far away. 
132 



EVENING 

While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead, 
A fainter glory round her head ; 
She follows happy waters after. 
Leaving behind low, rippling laughter. 

Ill 

The bird is silent overhead. 
The beast has laid him down ; 

The neighbored marbles watch the dead. 
The steeple guards the town. 

The south winds feel their doubtful course 
Toward sweet in thickets found ; 

The leaves reveal the faltering force 
'Twixt silentness and sound. 



133 



SUNSET IN THE REDWOODS 

The sky is lilac, the sky is rose ; 
Fainter and fainter the redwood glows ; 
The winds would be still ; 
The dove is calling, 
The dusk is falling. 
On the yellow hill. 

Lullaby, lullaby clucks the quail ; 
Faster and faster the colors fail ; 
The winds grow still. 
The dove, is he calling? 
'T is the soft dusk falling 
On the purple hill 

Lost is the lilac, lost the rose, 
In the shadow the rabbit knows ; 
The winds are still ; 
The dove is dreaming. 
The love-star gleaming 
Over the darkened hill. 
134 



TWILIGHT 

Hid ways have winds that lightly shake 
The silver willows, half-awake, 
Mysterious paths the moonbeams take 
Across the shadowed mountain-lake ; 
The soul in deeper secret goes 
Behind the lilac and the rose 
In skies of evening, far away. 
Beyond the flight of night and day. 



135 



AUTUMN AND WINTER 
ANIMALIA 



FOR A DAY 

Hearken Summer's song 
All her glad path along : 

Hand and heart together ^ 
Come while yet you may ; 

In the sunny weather 
Walk the happy way ; 
Let none delay y let none delay ; 
Love is only for a day. 

Hearken Autumn's song 
All her sad path along : 

Tet a little wander 
Down the happy way ; 

In the shadoWy yonder y 
Waits the spectre gray ; 
None says him nayy none says him nay ; 
Life is only for a day. 



139 



TO THE FALL WIND 

That I might borrow your voice, Fall Wind, 
To utter the sorrow of human kind ; 

To speak for speechless tears, 

For the hopes and fears 

Of the weariful years ! 

That you might lend me your voice, Fall 

Wind, 
To tell of the sorrow of human kind ; 

Fall Wind, your voice to grieve 

For the hopes that deceive 

And the hearts that believe ! 



140 



THE LAST DANCE OF THE 
LEAVES 

There 's revel in the withered close ; 

The wind of Autumn wakes and blows. 
Now it laughs, and now it grieves ; 
Weird the measure that it weaves 
For the dances of the yellow leaves. 

The sad grass pale and paler grows, 
Gray Death, from vale to hill he goes ; 
Still the wind, it half deceives : 
Weird the measure that it weaves 
For the dances of the dying leaves. 



141 



SNOWFLAKES 

Falling all the night-time, 
Falling all the day, 

Silent into silence. 
From the far-away ; 

Stilly host unnumbered. 
All the night and day 

Falling, falling, falling 
From the far-away, — 

Never came like glory 
To the fields and trees. 

Never summer blossoms 
Thick and white as these. 

Falling all the night-time. 
Falling all the day. 

Follow, follow, follow, 
Fold it soft away ; 
142 



SNOWFLAKES 

Folding, folding, folding, 
Fold the world away. 

Souls of flowers drifting 
Down the winter day. 



H3 



PROSPERO OF THE NORTH 

Young day has flung his saffron banner out, 
And the first beamy spear-tips prick the 

world. 
Straightway my wee ones will I set to work. 
The hemlocks listen, the sullen brook runs 

dark. 
Grim joy glows in the bones of the hoar 

oak ; 
How strong he is, and shapely ! — Hither, 

chicks ! 
First, you that know the chambers of the 

winds, 
See that they all are barred ; let not a breath 
Come forth of them. This done, lay hold, 

draw up 
The sagging cloud that hangs behind yon 

mount. 
And stretch his leaden length from east to 

west. — 
The mild, the social, maples lean this way, 
144 



PROSPERO OF THE NORTH 

Hearing my words, and the clean beeches 
clap 

Their scattered leaves ; attentive turns the 
birch. 

High-bred and delicate, and right happy- 
nod 

The water-loving alders. — Hear me, chicks ! 

Soon as the first flake flutters in the calm. 

Caught like the thistledown in spider's web, 

Get you abroad, and, as the white flowers 
come, 

Consign them to the use of beauty ; guide 

And stay them through the grave and de- 
cent day. 

Hark ! we must have unguessed devices 
wrought ; 

Far up and down the unbroken loveliness 

Must run so wondrous waves and dimply 
curves 

Eleaven shall reshape her clouds, and still 
despair 

To match your magic. Mischiefs, mark me 
well! 

Hood the prim steeple so the silly bell 
145 



PROSPERO OF THE NORTH 

Shall wag without a sound ; pad soft the 

rock, 
Stuff every hollow, cushion every knoll, 
Ay, drape all nakedness to the utmost stretch 
Of antic fancy, — bush and shrub and bough 
And stump and stub and pole ; on fence and 

wall 
Bring to the task most exquisite caprice ; 
So fair confusion let wild beauty work 
No man will know his own. Away ! Away ! 



146 



"NOW WINTER NIGHTS 
ENLARGE " 

The moon is up, the stars are out, 
The wind is in the naked tree ; 

And up and down and all about 
Pipes the winter minstrelsy. 

Weird shapes whisk here and there, 
Betwixt the boles and bushes brown ; 

They skim along the ledges bare, 
They dance the jaggy gulches down. 

The moon is up, the stars are out, 
Pipes on the winter minstrelsy ; 

They wave at us, the ghostly rout, 
Beck my merry mates and me. 

Aha, and had they heart's desire ; 

The phantom rabble — if they knew 
The fling and crackle of the fire, 

The sibilation of the brew ! 

147 



OLD FRIENDS 

When window-panes are smeared, 
And the hearth is spurting blue, 

When the trees are black and weird, 

And the hill owl calls "Who?" "Who?" 

It's to good fellows would get up 

For an old-time round of song and the cup. 
Blow, blow, wind, blow 
Across the snow ; 

Rattle casement, curtain wave ! 

A friend is no friend an he stays in his grave. 

When iron is the rut. 

And the wind wolves sniff and growl, 
Tug the spigot from the butt. 
And let the lean dogs howl. 
Fill beUied pitchers to the snout 
For friends to empty, turn about; 
Set here and there 
A comrade's chair ; 
Wet your throat, and set the stave ! 
A friend is no friend an he stays in his grave. 
148 



THE LITTLE WARM OWL 

Darkness, grow and blacker fold, 

Rattle, hail, and blast be bold. 
Old trees, blow together 
In the cold, roaring weather; 

Louder you howl 
The jollier he, 

. In his nest in the breast of the hollow tree, 

The warm Httle owl, the little warm owl. 

Play up, wild pipes i' the forest bare. 
Gallop, goblins, down the air. 
Ride, hug to the back 
Of the scudding rack ; 
Fiercer it scowl 
The jollier he. 

In his nest in the breast of the hollow tree, 
The warm little owl, the little warm owl. 



149 



THE WOLF OF THE EVENINGS 

Hark, hark ! 

The thin wolves bark ; 

They whimp and whine 
For the mild moonshine ; 
The*y snarl at the hill-star caught in the 
cloud, 
They snap at the flapping wings of the dark. 

Howl, howl ! 
The great gray owl, 
His eyeballs blaze 
Down the windy ways ; 
With the sweep of the rack on your 
leader crowd, 
Rally, wolves, by the eyes of the owl ! 



150 



COYOTE 

A DIM lithe shape moves over the mesa, 

Roves with the night wind up and down ; 
The light-foot ghost, the wild dog of the 
shadow, 
Howls on the level beyond the town. 
Cry, cry. Coyote ! 

No fellow has he, with leg or wing. 

No mate has that spectre, in fur or 
feather ; 
In the sage bush is whelped a fuzzy thing, 
And mischief itself helps lick him to- 
gether. 

Up, cub Coyote ! 

The winds come blowing over and over. 

The great white moon is looking down ; 
In the throat of the dog is devil's laughter. 
Is he baying the moon or baying the town ? 
Howl, howl, Coyote ! 
151 



COYOTE 

The shadow-dog on the windy mesa, 

He sits, and he laughs in his devil's way. 
Look to the roost and lock up the lambkin ; 
A deal may happen 'twixt now and the 
day. 

Ha, ha, Coyote ! 



152 



POET AND CROW 

POET 

For once, old ebon buccaneer, 
A bit of panegyric hear. 
A few yet walk the earth 
Who know your place and worth. 
We dare avow it was your croak 
That first the mother silence broke. 
And beardless Time stared round, 
Astonished at the sound. 
An elemental, cosmic hymn. 
Close as the bark is to the limb. 
None of the wild might trimmed away, 
Native as sunlight to the day, 
Your song, in valley and on hill, 
Holds fast the hale, unchanging art 
Of Nature, her unbroken will, 
The secret of her sturdy heart. 
That gride — indigenous, grim — 
That rasp on horror's rim. 
In one ear rings forever true ; 
It thrills one bosom through and through,- 
153 



POET AND CROW 

Nature's. To her you sing, 

To her, to her you cling ; 

Your whole demeanor is devotion, — 

All that grave and stately motion, 

That scorn of them that dare be bold 

Against the ancient iron mould. 

Courage from claw to beak. 

You brace us, worn and weak ; 

'T is marrow for the bones when forth 

You sally 'gainst the braggart North, 

Clinch with him as mixed foe with foe 

The elements, long, long ago. 

When slow toward form the crude earth 

curled. 
And chaos woke, and was a world. 
But you have, too, your gracious ways ; 
Right well you love the buddy days, 
The rondeaus that the robins sing. 
The bluebird music, sweet with Spring. 
Then joy it is to see 
You on the dreamy tree. 
Armored in darkness, in your throat 
The potence of the olden note. 
Great faith's own minstrelsy : 
154 



POET AND CROW 

" Let none despair, nor once forget ; 
Lo, there is corn in Egypt yet ! " 
And when 'tis summer in the land, 
And all the rule is love's own hand. 
Then in yon speary field of mine 
Courtly you swagger, stride, and shine, 
Liege lord, by immemorial right, 
Throughout the kingdom of God's light. 

CROW 

I 'm a prince of the air, 
One scarcely made to scare 
At the like of man or his image; 
I 'm Crow, old Crow, stiff up for a scrim- 
mage : 
And it *s out in the morn. 
When the dew is on the corn. 

For to fill my maw — 

Caw, caw, caw ! 

You are you, I am Crow, 
A thing or two I know : 
I sniff the trigger and the barrel. 
Then off I flop, I flop and I carol, — 
155 



POET AND CROW 

And it 's out in the morn, 
When the dew is on the corn, 

For to fill my maw — 

Caw, caw, caw ! 

I am Crow, you are you, 

I know a thing or two ; 

A man may be of straw. 

But crow is tough stuff from beak to claw ; 

And it 's out in the morn, 

When the dew is on the corn. 

For to fill my maw — 

Caw, caw, caw ! 

I was born on the hill. 

And have always had my will ; 

I am grit and gristle and brain. 

My every feather is dyed in the grain : 

And it's out in the morn. 

When the dew is on the corn, 

For to fill my maw — 

Caw, caw, caw ! 



156 



THE LOON 

Was never thing, 
With leg or wing, 
That could my ditty croon ; 

By mine emerald head. 

By mine eye-ball red, 
There 's devil in the egg of the loon. 

To myself I mutter ; 
The pale leaves flutter, 
The lake lifts not a wave ; 

I laugh ! — a blast 

Like the trump at last, 
When the men-things jump from the grave. 

Hay ha ! Hoy ho ! 

The black winds know ; 

The sun is blown to a blot. 

The storm winds meet. 

They blacken and beat ; 
The shore and the sky are not. 
1-57 



THE LOON 

Hay ha ! Hoy ho ! 

The winds play so 

With the Lord of the Lake alone. 
The raving rout, 
They shriek and shout ; 

The demon's laugh is mine own. 

The wild winds rake, 

They pile the lake ; 

Hay ha ! His brain is chaff. 
The mad-cap loon, 
They hatch i' the moon — 

Hdy ha ! I laugh and I laugh. 



158 



TOAD 

I 'm just about the color of mud, 

I 've a bobby mouth and a knobby back ; 

I bundle away, I tumble and thud, 
I lack the knack of walking a crack. 

I sit and think at the chink of my hole — 
Nothing like flies for a plump, buff 
belly — 
I rather reckon I have n't any soul, 

Though I 'm not altogether pebbles and 
jelly. 

As soon as the roses I smell the rain, 
I wink one eye when two would n't do ; 

I pad my ribs, and I don't complain. 

I'm toad, but no toady — How about 
you ? 



159 



TO TREE-CRICKETS 

Constant mites that briskly whip 

One measure over and over, 
How like you are, a-harping there. 

The larger sort of lover. 

Scratch-scratch, scratch-scratch, all the night, 
You twang it, brave and cheery ; 

One jerky stave, the whole night long, — 
Deary — Deary — Deary. 

High the moon rides, high and clear. 

The filling dewdrops glisten ; 
Thrum, plucky lovers ! well I know 

Your little ladies listen. 

Stick to 't, wooers ! So will I, 

Nor ever slightest vary 
The one sweet word of all the world, — 

Mary — Mary — Mary. 



i6o 



QUATRAINS AND SONNETS 



MY SONG 

Mr song J you need be neither long nor loud. 
If only love and beauty's own you are ; 

It is the one breath curls the leaf and cloud, 
'The one life lights the daisy and the star. 



PROSE FOR WOES 

Marry, sirs, here 's merry greeting ! 

Who hath woes, let him put *em in prose ; 
Song was born and bred a sweeting, 

On her lips a tune, at her throat a rose. 



163 



THE POET 



A PRIEST of Heaven, some gracious hour. 
Lowered to him chasuble and stole ; 

He sings a weed — it is a flower; 
He sings a star — it is a soul. 

II 

He knows her voice, he heeds her call. 
And Beauty holds him to her mother's- 
heart ; 

There lavishes — last gift of all — 
The secrecies of speech, eternal art. 

Ill 

The poet marvels, while he sings, 
At strangest bright eternal things. 
The accent is not all his own ; 
Betimes the god sings on alone. 



164 



MEMORY 



Would you Love's fairest daughter see, 
Look on her, yonder, — Memory, 
Leaning in thought-emmarbled grace. 
With dream-lit, half-averted face. 

II 

Stiller than where that city lies asleep. 
With fabled spires deep in the swinging 
sea. 
Stiller and dimmer than that windless deep 
The sad-flowered shadow-field of mem- 
ory. 



i6s 



LOST JOY 

Lost Joy, who now is at your side 
From morning until eventide ; 
Who has you softly by the hand. 
All up and down the summer land ? 



THE LOITERING JOYS 

Night strengthens star by star. 
And tint by tint the day ; 

The dearer blisses are 
The longest on the way. 



1 66 



HERE AND HEREAFTER 

A VOICE oft speaks, and saith, 

" Shall sorrow leave thee at the gate of 

death ? 
Heaven's stars illume earth's night ; 
Why not earth-shadows dim the Hills of 

Light?" 



BUT ONCE 

Two, from the Heights of Quiet, 
Come, one day, to men ; 

Two, Love and Death, come hither 
Once, and not again. 



167 



TO THE DREGS 

Love's lips or the betrayer's kiss. 

Drink, nor despair ; 
The fates mix neither bane nor bliss 

Too great to bear. 



FATE 

A SUNBEAM kissed a river-ripple, — " Aye 
Shall live the love 'twixt thee and me ! " 

In night's wide darkness passed the light 
away, 
The river mingled with the sea. 



i68 



THE WIND VOICE 

" Step softly ; where your foot is was a 
flower. 
Perhaps upon June's dearest grave you 
tread." 
It follows me, haunts every autumn hour, 
The wind voice talking of the blossom 
dead. 



SLAIN 

War met him, and fell pestilence. 

Sore toil and want, all the dread foes of 
every day ; 
These he struck down, then went he hence. 
Sent by a soft cat-thing that clawed him 
in her play. 



169 



THE VICTOR 

Along all ways the path of triumph lies ; 

All places own the victor's art, — 
To do that greater thing than win the 
prize, 

Lose it, unhurt in hope, in heart. 



NOW 

Thine hour is now ; ay, though the Hand 

Have kingdoms yet in store, 
He that to-day is king will stand 

As if there were no more. 



170 



THE ANGEL STANDING BY 

Revere thy roof; life has no more 
To give than now is at the door. 
Where looks the clear, home-keeping eye, 
There is the angel standing by. 



WOULDST HEAR THE SINGING 
OF THE SPHERES 

WouLDST hear the singing of the spheres, 
Hark with closed ears ; 
Wouldst follow Beauty to her skies. 
Look with closed eyes. 



171 



THE OLD 

Must be God's warders hearken every sigh, 
Draw close and lovingly around the old ; 

The glories on the going summer lie, 
On the spent sun attend the hosts in 
gold. 



THUS RUN THE HOURS 

Thus run the hours : blithe calls at break 

of day, 
A sighing when the light has passed away ; 
The dawn, the noon, then gloom upon the 

gold. 
Music fallen mute, or moaning, youth 

grown old. 



172 



OUR TWO GIFTS 

Two gifts God giveth, and He saith, 
One shall be forfeit in the strife, 
The one no longer needed, — life ; 

No hand shall take the other, — death. 



TEARS 

The lips are pallid, parched with woes ? 

Weep 1 the fall of tears is not in vain ; 

In the grass is laughter after rain. 
The blush is back upon the rose. 



173 



TRUST 



Welcome the shadows ; where they blackest 

are 

Burns through the bright supernal hour ; 

From blindness of wide dark looks out the 
star, 

From all death's night the April flower. 

II 

For beauty and for gladness of the days 

Bring but the meed of trust ; 
The April grass looks up from barren ways, 

The daisy from the dust. 

Ill 

When of this flurry thou shalt have thy fill. 
The thing thou seekest, it will seek thee 
then : 
The heavens repeat themselves in waters still 
And in the faces of contented men. 
174 



WISDOM 

To wisdom grief is sweet as mirth, 
And toil is one with rest ; 

The death groan is the cry of birth, 
The grave the mother-breast. 



DEATH 

Fearest the shadow? Keep thy trust ; 

Still the star-worlds roll. 
Fearest death ? sayest, "Dust to dust ? " 

No ; say, " Soul to soul ! " 



175 



THE FIRST DAWN 

He that engenders had called forth the 
world ; 
The mist, ingathered from the vast of 

space. 
Together drawn, had fashioned a great face 
Of vale and mountain, tree, and river curled. 
Of all the leaves and flowers was none un- 
furled. 
No bird had song, no voice the giant race 
Of beasts ; for darkness held her ancient 
place. 
The day-god's bolt glowed in his hand, un- 

hurled. 
But eastward, now, dream-colors, faint and 
far. 
Foretold to those first lives the end of 
night. 
And from black silence all leapt up as 
one ; 

176 



THE FIRST DAWN 

The mother-dark, with neither moon nor 
star, 
Was thick with wild eyes looking for the 
light, 
And throats of thunder for the com- 
ing sun. 



^n 



THE DEATH OF ADAM 

'T WAS Adam at the gates of Paradise ; 
Sick with the world's first sickness, pros- 
trate, pale, 
Low lay he, in his pain. And they made 
wail 
That stood by him : " O father, dim your 

eyes 
And filmed ; they cannot see the dreadful 
skies. 
Across the heavens black cloud-wings 

reach and sail. 
And prowling shadow crouches in the 
vale. 
What burden, father, on the hurt earth lies.'' " 
"I hunger, wife and children, for the bough 
Whereof I ate. Go thou, swift-footed 
Seth, 
And pluck from that sweet tree." — 
With eyes mist-dim 
178 



THE DEATH OF ADAM 

He looked on it. " Nay, wife, nay, children, 
now 
Is here the one He spake of to me, — 
Death ; 
With hollow voice he bids me follow 
him." 



179 



THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN 

(January 22, 1901) 

Answer the cabin and the hunting-shed 

The voice of mourning in the royal halls ; 

The shadow crawls upon the crowned head, 

From out her palsied hand the sceptre 

falls. 
So. Wrap her in the banner from herwalls, 
And in her regal peace be comforted. 

Hark ! up and down the earth gray honor 
calls, 
And the long glories gather round her bed. 
Through all the years her people have been 
fed, 
Yea, the wild ox has fatted in her stalls ; 
To islands of the sea her lines have spread, 
Proud sons of song have sung her mad- 
rigals. 
Come, while the growing pageants past her 

sweep. 
Wrap round the banner-fold, and let her 
sleep. 

180 



MY BOOKS 

My books, you have made light the heavy 
time, 
Have made me whole with strong, restor- 
ing thought ; 
By you I have been heartened and been 
taught 
In noble prose, in high immortal rime. 
You are mine oaken staff when I would 
climb, 
Mine armor when the battle must be 

fought ; 
To you I owe the best that I have 
wrought. 
Life's jarring bells lost in the larger chime. 
In loneliness what faithful company ! 

In social hours, of comrades all the best, 
Champions of hope and cheer, of right 
and truth. 
Be closer yet along the way to be ; 

The farther that I journey toward the west 
The oftener tent me by the wells of 
youth. 

i8i 



THE VOICE OF THE MOUNTAIN 

Low at my feet is stretched the lordly vale ; 
Across my realm the high wild stars are 

led; 

My garment is the light, the darkness 

dread ; 

I wrap me round with rain and snow and hail. 

Round me and round the eagles nest and sail ; 

Between my knees the thunders make 

their bed ; 
I lap the storm-winds, and their young 
are bred. 
Their young that play, and chafe my rocky 

mail. 
Who cometh up to me, he shall have power. 
The prophet's power, the old law-giver's 
might ; 
Ay, he shall have the tablet in his hand. 
He shall not fail, but in the evil hour 
And good, uplifted, clothed upon with 
light, 
His neck unbowed, as I stand shall he 
stand. 

182 



GROWN OLD WITH NATURE 

If yonder lie another, better land, 

A fairer than this humble mother-shore, 
Hoping to meet the dear ones gone before, 
I fain would go. But may no angel hand 
Lead on so far along the shining sand. 
So wide within the everlasting door, 
All lost will be this good green world. 
No more 
Of Earth ! Let me not hear that dread 

command. 
Then must I mourn, unsoothed by harps 
of gold. 
Mourn for the boughs, the birds, which 
taught me song. 
Mourn for the nightfall on the forest fold ; 
Yea, must bemoan, amid the joyous 
throng, 
The early loves. The heart that has grown 
old 
With Nature cannot, happy, leave her 
long. 

183 



TWO FRIENDS 

I HONOR him who needs must chop the stone, 
Must pluck the root up, murder beast and 

bird, 
Then label with a very butcher's word 
The bleeding pieces. Though he build his 

throne 
On brittle stalks and hollow carcass-bone, 
Still by a princely purpose is he stirred ; 
And such his thirst for knowledge long 
deferred, 
Kind Nature counts him in among her own. 
But him I love the Muses make their 
care, 
Leading his feet wherever he may go. 
To spell the gentle magic of the air, 
Of olden boughs and darkest brooks that 
flow. 
He has my heart; for perfect things and 
fair 
He finds, and leaves them fairer than they 
grow. 

184 



I WOULD N'T 

A SPRIG of mint by the wayward brook, 
A nibble of birch in the wood, 

A summer day and love and a book, 
And I would n't be king if I could. 



THE SKILFUL LISTENER 

Who listens well hears Nature on her round, 
When least she thinks it; bird and bough 
and stream 

Not only, but her silences profound, 

Surprised by nicer cunning of his dream. 



185 



TWO VOICES 

The winds at play on a breezy day, 
Sweet, sweet to hear what they sing and say; 
But sweeter the murmur of winds that blow 
When only the heart and the high leaves 
know. 



MY FANCIES 

The winds are faint ; the leaves, not sure 

they blow, 
Fall slumbering as they flutter to and fro. 
So, drowsy fancies, out of dream you start, 
To fall asleep again upon my heart. 



i86 



SPRING 



The pussy-willow and the hazel know, 
The bluebird and the robin, what rings 
true ; 
I trust to such, and let the whiners go. 
Bravo ! bluff March ; I swing my hat to 
you. 

II 

Bring, bluebird, from the blue above 
The song Love's heavenly own ; 

See ! hand in hand, come Spring and Love — 
Or is it Love alone ? 



187 



EARLY MORNING 

A WEBBY mead with diamonds set, 
Dim, drowsy boughs, dream-burdened yet, 
A mist-flock half-way up the steep. 
Curled there, rock-folded, still asleep. 



THE SOUTH WIND 

Herald of blissful summertide come I ; 

I wander by, 

Singing of sweetest things the June day 

knows, — 
Love and the rose. 



i88 



THE HERMIT-THRUSH 

Holy, Holy ! — In the hush 
Hearken to the hermit-thrush ; 
All the air 
Is in prayer. 



TWILIGHT 

The glories falter on the mountain crown, 
The smooth blue heavens let their quiet 

down, 
The little wondering lights no longer leap, 
And, leaf on leaf, the cool trees droop in 

sleep. 



189 



HAUNTING MY DREAMS 

There be two things that haunt my dreams : 
the flower 
Swinging on rocky hilltops all alone. 
The minstrelsy of silence at the hour 

When the last bird has to her hiding 
flown. 



190 



THE PASSING OF AUTUMN 



Slow trembles from her envied crown 

A red leaf down ; 

And the smile dies 

Into the darkness of her eyes. 

II 

The hurt hours droop and hover, 

Passing the hallowed place ; 
The pale moon leans above her, 

Weeps down upon her face. 

Ill 

The swamp-tree sighs, and the thin sharp 

reed. 
The wire-grass whines, and the stiff brown 

weed. 
The lone hill-mullein stands dumb and 

tall. 
The low clouds hover, the long rains fall. 
191 



THE PASSING OF AUTUMN 

IV 

The brook, slow northward toward the 

snows, 
Bubbling its little trouble, goes ; 
Lorn branches beckon, strained in space; 
Death-pale the field's beseeching face. 



A wind, whence no man knows. 
Through the grating weeds it blows ; 
It comes, it sighs and goes. 
Once it rocked the summer rose. 



192 



THE TREES 

Men hope and labor and despair, 
Laughter they have and sorrow ; 

The trees their gods' composure wear 
To-morrow and to-morrow. 



THE VOICE OF THE WIND 

My breath is on the mountain pine, 

My murmur on the sea ; 
The burden haunts that heart of thine, 

Love and eternity. 



193 



THE VOICE OF THE GRASS 

I 

Ere roves the bee or cometh forth the 

flower. 
Ere on the tree the south wind bloweth 

power, 
The naked place I crown ; I edge the 

stream ; 
Into love's face I look, and feed her dream. 

II 

My lot with man is cast. 

I round him shine and wave, 
Nor fail him at the last : 

I lie upon his grave. 



194 



EARLIER AND LIGHTER 
VERSES 



THE WAY OF IT 

The wind is awake, pretty leaves, pretty 

leaves. 
Heed not what he says ; he deceives, he 

deceives : 
Over and over 
To the lowly clover 
He has lisped the same love (and forgotten 

it, too) 
He will soon be lisping and pledging to 

you. 

The boy is abroad, pretty maid, pretty maid, 
Beware his soft words ; I 'm afraid, I 'm 
afraid : 
He has said them before 
Times many a score. 
Ay, he died for a dozen ere his beard pricked 

through. 
And the very same death he will die for you. 
197 



THE WAY OF IT 

The way of the boy is the way of the wind, 
As light as the leaves is dainty maid-kind ; 

One to deceive, 

And one to believe — 
That is the way of it, year to year ; 
But I know you will learn it too late, my 
dear. 



198 



TO YOUNGSTERS 

Golden hair and eyes of blue, 
What won't they do, what won't they do ? 
The gaitered foot, the taper waist — 
Be not in haste, be not in haste ; 
Before your chin grows twenty spear. 
My word for 't, youngster, they '11 appear. 

Raven hair and eyes of night 
Undo the boys (it serves 'em right) ; 
The drooping curl, the downward glance, 
They are only waiting for the chance ; 
They have not failed this thousand year. 
Right in the nick, lad, they '11 appear. 

Shapely hands and arms of snow, 
There 's nothing like them here below ; 
The cheeks that blush, the lips that smile — 
A little while, a little while — 
Tease out the sprout, sir, never fear. 
Before you know it they '11 be here. 
199 



TO YOUNGSTERS 

Hands, and hair, and lips, and eyes, 

In these the tyro's danger lies ; 

A touch, a tress, a glance, a sigh. 

And then, my boy, good-by — good-by ! 

God help you, youngster ! keep good cheer ; 

Coax on your chin to twenty spear. 



200 



"SWEET-THING" JANE 

When somebody comes a-tripping down. 
The winds all at play with her hair and 

gown ; 
The very same winds that are just too lazy 
To lift a leaf or to swing a daisy, — 
Then hold your heart with might and main ; 
She is crossing the meadow, " Sweet-thing " 

Jane. 

She always chooses the cool of the day. 

The way down to Lovetown, that 's her way ; 

She knows very well (what is well worth 
knowing) 

There 's only one road — the road she is 
going ; 

And she knows she is sweet as a rose in the 
rain, 

And she knows — she will tell you, " Sweet- 
thing " Jane. 

201 



"SWEET-THING" JANE 

A light will burn in the blue of her eye, 
Like the star lit first in the evening sky ; 
And over her lips will bubble the laughter 
The brooks in the sun go running after ; 
You will see, you will hear, at the gate in 

the lane. 
While slowly it opens to " Sweet-thing " 

Jane. 

You will open it wide, then what will you 

do? 
Why, you will be off for Lovetown, too ; 
The cool of the day is your lovers' weather, 
And all go to Lovetown two together. 
You may hold your heart with might and 

main, 
She will have it at last, will " Sweet-thing " 

Jane. 



202 



WHAT I WOULD 

I WOULD have a poet's book, 
In a shady summer nook, 
Where I could around me look. 

As a lover may ; 
I would have a little hand 
In my own ; would hold it, and — 
Hold it, and — you understand. 

That would be my way. 

All a summer's day. 

I would read a fervent page. 
Then explain, a very sage, 
All about the poet's rage, 

As a lover may ; 
A modest charge were meet for this, 
Just the brief rubific bliss 
Of a not-quite-willing kiss. 

That would be my way. 

All a summer's day. 

203 



COME ALONG, DEARY 

Hill to vale, with measures gay. 
Singing the green upon the gray. 
Sweet and kind, sweet and kind. 
Singing and kissing goes the wind. 

Singing to me and singing to you ; 
Come along. Deary ! What others do 
Never mind, never mind ; 
Singing and kissing goes the wind. 



204 



MY CASTLE IN THE AIR 

Or in the East or in the West, 
Where shall I build my bird a nest ? 
Northward or southward, whither roam 
To build my little love a home ? 

Up yonder, in the clean, sweet air, 
I think that I could keep her, there. 
Too much an angel for the ground, 
For heaven somewhat too warm and round. 



205 



LITTLE LOVE FORGETTETH 
HIS UMBRELLA 

(Anacreon) 

Love came, one night, his wings all wet. 
And put his face against the pane. 
And shook his ringlets in the rain ; 
When soon I heard the sweetest noise. 
Made 'twixt the wind, his wings and voice; 
I heard it, and I hear it yet. 

What could I do but ope the door. 

And take him softly from the storm. 
And rub his rosy body warm, 
And hang to dry the slackened bow 
And silver arrows, dripping so. 
And make him happy as before ? 

I wist not what he was about : 

He took an arrow dry and clean. 
And said, " 'T will fly right well, I ween." 
Now, here it is, the very dart. 
The barbs well fastened in my heart. 
Only the feathers sticking out. 
206 



AUTO-DA-FE 

(To C. W. F.) 

Heigh-ho, a drowsy, drippy day 
Suits well your single gentlemen 
Whose locks begin to show the gray. 
The grizzly drizzle round my " den," 
'T is sent on purpose, I dare say. 
For bachelor's auto-da-fe. 
I have the ribboned missives here. 
The hearth flames flicker low, but clear. 
The spell is on, — the savage spell 
To do the burning quickly, well ; ^ 

So, to it. 

Heavens ! how old am I ? 

It seems a hundred year since she 

That inked this paper said to me, 
" You will be older by and by, 

I was a beardless rover then. 

The Callow Knight of the Daring Pen, 

A-tilting in the lists of air 

For every damsel counted fair. 
207 



AUTO-DA-FE 

Constance, your knight is older, now ; 
And you ? The dusk will dull the bough 
Was brightest with the morning gold. 
As time's own hand let mine be bold, — 
Spring up, brave little tongues of fire ; 
Here I begin the precious pyre. 

These ? These from merry Margaret. 
I never loved her, never ; yet 
There was a something us between 
That keeps a spear of memory green, — 
A plucky, strong, unbrothered blade. 
Still smihng in its depth of shade. 
Well-turned the hand that down this page 
Drew line to line, each letter clear 
And firm from "Jolly John, my dear," 
Far as the awkward word " engage." 
" Engage," " engage " ! Did I propose ? 
Here 't is again, right at the close. 
Plump Margaret, if this be true. 
In those young days what did n't I do ? 
For shame ! — Up, up, good flames ! To 

you 
I toss this costly treasure, too. 
208 



AUTO-DA-FE 

There 's nothing like a rainy day 
When one would put old loves away. 
Ha, this trig bundle, what an air 
Of pride about it ! And the care 
To make a fellow bite the dust : 
" Down on your knee, you must, you 
must ! " 
And probably I did go down, 
(General prostration seized the town,) 
In fact, I know I did; but then. 
Somehow I found my feet again. 
A girl 's a girl, a boy 's a fool, 
And life, it proves a sorry school. — 
Proud queen, cloud-born, serene and high, 
To bow low down is not to die ; 
Long I survive all injury 
To aching heart or quaking knee. 
But mark ! a chance word, here and there. 
Says yet you could a little " care." 
Imperial Lois, 'tis too late. — 
These from Her Highness, gentle grate. 

And, now, to Helen. Taste of wine 
Is on my lips, the sting of spices ; 
209 



AUTO-DA-FE 

This dark-eyed marvel was divine, 

Even in mundanity's devices. 

She traced these pages sharp and fast 

As hailstones drive on the winter blast ; 

Tame passion Helen never knew ; 

A very hurricane she blew, 

Or sat in midst of awful calm. 

No other ever sang a psalm 

As she could sing it, on occasion ; 

And hers alone the eyes could play 

Such antics after the operation. 

Charmer half-wild in heart and mind, 

Angel with a dash of the tiger kind. 

Love's leopard, — Helen, off and on. 

We loved it madly, years agone. 

When you were married — Blaze, bright 

pyre ! 
I add these also, fire to fire. 

And still the rain, the gray, gray rain ! 
Old Rover's nose is at the pane. — 
Rover, you wag your tail in vain ; 
Not any roving on the day — 
The day we put old loves away. — 

210 



AUTO-DA-FE 

'T is almost done ; one ofFering more. 
What says the clock ? Quarter of four. — 
Here 's for you, fellow ; foul or fair, 
Rover, 't is time we took the air. — 
These last, these little yellow scraps. 
Good fire, ere long, perhaps — perhaps. 



21 I 



LOVE'S IN TOWN 

Color in the lilacs, 

And singing in the air ; 

Sweet is for the having, 
Plenty and to spare. 

Fuzzy are the bushes, 
The fields are all a-smile ; 

Phyllis has a feeling 

Life is well worth while ; 

Dian tests her dimples, 
Griselda fetches sighs ; 

Amaryllis loosens 

The lightnings in her eyes ; 

Roxy knots her ribbons, 
Belinda binds her zone ; — 

Pluck your heart up, Colin ! 
Philander, hold your own ! 

Tell it up and down. 
Love 's in town ! 

212 



SONG OF THE COUNTRY LASS 

A LASS am I, and I wait my day ; 

To some 't will be nay, but to one 't will 

be yea ; 
When the time comes, I shall know what 
to say. 
The winter goes, and the warm wind blows, 
And who shall keep the color from the 
red, red rose ? 

The blossom blue and the blossom pink. 
The bee may love both, but I know what I 

think : 
One he loves best, and there will he drink. 
There is bloom for the bee, there is dew 

for the grass. 
And the cup is not empty for a country 
lass. 

A lass am I, neither high nor low ; 

My heart is mine now, but I 'd have the 

world know. 
When the wind 's right, away it will go. 
213 



SONG OF THE COUNTRY LASS 

The brook sings below, and the bird 

sings above, 
And sweeter in between sings the lover to 

his love. 



214 



LOVE'S WORLD 

If the year be at her Spring 
I neither know nor care ; 

I have the bird-song of your speech, 
The warm rain of your hair. 
I question not if thrushes sing, 
If roses load the air ; 

Beyond my heart I need not reach 
When all is summer there. 

I go not by the blue above, 
By grasses green or sere ; 

Your silences, your sigh, your smile, 
They mark my time o' year. 
Its own brave wonder- world has love; 
So fair it is, I fear 

Sometimes 't will fade and go the while 
I look upon you, dear. 



215 



LIFE AND I 

As the shadows glide 

Over the wheat on the ripe hillside, 

So we journey, Life and I : 

O sweet youth-time, go not by ! 

Where the warm winds meet, 

To the wreathed pipe we time our feet ; 

There we linger. Life and I : 

O sweet youth-time, go not by ! 

Where the grasses play. 
Ever we wander away and away. 
Singing, laughing. Life and I : 
O sweet youth-time, go not by ! 



216 



AT CANDLE-LIGHTING 

I THINK it better to believe, 

And be even as the children, they 
The children of the early day, 

Who let the kindly dream deceive, 

And joyed in all the mind may weave 
Of dear conceit — better, I say. 
To let wild fancy have her way. 

To trust her than to know and grieve. 

A poet of old Colophon 

A notion held I think was right, 
No matter how or whence he gat it 

"The stars are snuffed out every dawn^ 
And newly lighted every night, 
I hope to catch the angels at it. 



217 



THE OPEN HEART 

Would you understand 

The language with no word. 
The speech of brook and bird. 

Of waves along the sand ? 

Would you make your own 
The meaning of the leaves, 
The song the silence weaves 

Where little winds made moan ? 

Would you know how sweet 
The falling of the rill, 
The calling on the hill, — 

All tunes the days repeat ? 

Neither alms nor art. 

No toil, can help you hear ; 

The secret of the ear 
Is in the open heart. 

218 



SUMMER RAIN 

Drops of summer rain 
Tapping at the pane, 
Welcome, little hearts of air, 
Beating, beating, beating there. 

Haply I know why 

Raindrops quit the sky : 

Every lily, every rose 

Well that gentle knocking knows. 

Rose and lily-cup 

Fill it, fill it up ; 

Only lovers from the sky 

On the breasts of blossoms lie. 



219 



SONG OF THE SUMMER HOURS 

We happy hearts for nothing are 

If not for ringing praises ; 
A song for Summer, near and far, 

From hilltop down to daisies ! 

We wind her hair with leaves and flowers, 

In places green and shady ; 
We are the happy summer hours. 

And Summer is our Lady. 

Come, sing with us ! the while we run 

Is Summer going, going. 
Some say she loves the roving sun ; 

There is no knowing, knowing. 



220 



THE COMING OF THE ROSES 

On the south winds a flurry ; 

The slow clouds hurry, 

The blue looks knowing. 

There is coming and going 

Of voices and wings and feet ; 

There is bringing and mixing of sweet, 

Of tenderest hues 

The deft hours use ; 

There is peering of happy faces 

From secret, shadowy places. 

The fluters of June 

Blow a blissful tune ; 

On the leaves but the gleam 

And the tremble of dream ; 

The gate of the sun-god closes. 
But, all alone, will Love toil on. 
Labor she will till the dark be gone ; 

And to-morrow there *11 be roses. 



221 



THE MUSIC OF NATURE 

The song of Nature is forever. 
Her joyous voices falter never; 
On hill and valley, near and far. 
Attendant her musicians are. 

From waterbrook or forest tree 
For aye comes gentle melody ; 
The very air is music blent, 
A universal instrument. 

When hushed are bird and brook and wind. 
Then silence will some measure find. 
Still sweeter; as a memory 
Is sweeter than the things that be. 



222 



FOR THE MAKING OF MUSIC 

Take of the maiden's, of the mother's sigh, 
Of childhood's dream, the hope and peace 

that bless 
Old age ; take of the lover's kiss, caress, 
Of light it kindles in the loved-one's eye ; 
Of June's long shadows. Autumn's evening 
sky. 
Of roses, of the south wind's tenderness. 
Of stars that burn through pine-tops, 
sprays that tress 
The willow-banks where brooks run stillest 

by; 

Take of the blissful lisping of young 
Spring, 
Take of the last faint, pleading grief of Fall, 
Of joy and woe that sleep and waking 
bring, — 
The costliest offerings of the great, the small; 
Now, f)our into the empty soul each thing, 
And let the Finger touch that moveth all. 
223 



OVER THE HILL 

Where wild flowers were and rippling grass, 
I chanced upon a country lass ; 
" Was never lovelier home," I said. 
She hung her head, blushed very red. 
Then raised her eyes, as maidens will, — 
" My heart, my heart lives over the hill." 

So fair she was, and so afraid, 

I could not quiz the little maid ; 

So over hilltop must I ride 

To see what could be on the other side. 

Her words went, too, as sweet words will, — 

" My heart, my heart lives over the hill." 

I crossed the hill, looked everywhere. 
And asked if a little red heart lived there. 
I was sure it did, so I rode along 
Till I heard the burden of a song ; 
Sang the lad o' the mill, as lads they will, — 
" My heart, my heart lives over the hill." 
224 



OVER THE HILL 

The little lass and the miller boy, 
The meed of the years, the grief, the joy. 
They told it all, that summer day ; 
However run the hours away. 
Bring fortune good or bring it ill, 
Heart and hope live over the hill. 



225 



AT THE HEARTHSIDE 

The children tucked away, 

His hearthside bright and still, 

The farmer's frowns are all that say 
The" day has brought him ill. 

The wife — her work is done — 
Moves cheerly here and there ; 

The comforts gather, one by one, 
Around the easy chair. 

Now, as a sunny brook 

Will woo the moody shore. 

She nears the gloomy chimney nook ; 
She hardly ventures more. 

If he but lift his face — 

The hearth-flames quicken, spring ; 
A yielding smile, his old embrace. 

And wife and kettle sing. 



226 



THE KITCHEN CLOCK 

Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly, 
Doing nothing, sits the chore-boy, Billy : 
" Seconds reckoned. 
Seconds reckoned. 
Every minute. 
Sixty in it ; 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 
Tick-tock, tock-tick, 
Nick-knock, knock-nick, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Closer to the fire is rosy Milly, 
Every whit as close and cozy, Billy : 
" Time is flying, 
Worth your trying ; 
Pretty Milly, 
Kiss her, Billy ! 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 

227 



THE KITCHEN CLOCK 

Tick-tock, tock-tick, 
Now — now, quick — quick ! 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Something 's happened, very red is Milly, 

Billy boy is looking very silly : 

" Pretty misses, 

Plenty kisses ; 

Make it twenty, 

Take a plenty ; 

Billy, Milly, 

Milly, Billy, 

Right-left, left-right. 

That 's right, all right, 

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — 

Goes the kitchen clock. 

Weeks gone, still they are sitting, Milly, 

Billy; 
O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly ! 
"Winter weather. 
Close together ; 
Would n't tarry. 
Better marry ; 

228 



THE KITCHEN CLOCK 

Milly, Billy, 

Billy, Milly, 

Two, one — one, two. 

Don't wait, 't won't do, 

Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," — 

Goes the kitchen clock. 

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly? 

Spring has come again, and where is Billy ? 

" Give me credit. 

For I did it ; 

Treat me kindly, 

Mind you wind me ; 

Mister Billy, 

Mistress Milly, 

My — O, O — my, 

By-by, by-by, 

Nickety-knock, cradle rock," — 

Goes the kitchen clock. 



229 



THE TRAPPER'S SWEETHEART 

Wide awake, now, mind your eye, 
She will think on 't by and by ; 
She will see — perhaps — she may, 
'Gin to-morrer, not to-day. 

" Be true to me, 

Furgit," says she. 
Jest as it may hit her fancy : 
That 's it zackly, that is Nancy. 

Take a squirrel up a tree. 
Jest so frisky, sir, is she : 
Now on this side, now on that. 
You must watch her like a cat. 

It 's " No," it 's " Yes, 

I rather guess," — 
Jest as it may tech her fancy : 
That 's it zackly, that is Nancy. 

You 've seen creeturs sudding lame. 
Git too near 'em, an' — they 're game ! 

230 



THE TRAPPER'S SWEETHEART 

Her right over : an inch too near. 
Up and off is Nancy dear. 

" Yes, Jake," says she, 

" Laws sake ! " says she. 
Jest accordin' to her fancy : 
That's it zackly, that is Nancy. 

Whew ! a gal 's a cunnin' thing ; 
You must take 'em on the wing. — 
I '11 be goin' ; fur, ye see, 
Nancy, she's expectin' me. 

I '11 hit or miss her. 

It 's quit or kiss her ; 
I 'm fur facts, while she 's fur fancy : 
That 's us zackly — me and Nancy. 



231 



A SAINT OF YORE 

(In Memoriam E. V.) 

Who brings it, now, her sweet accord 

To every precept of her Lord ? 

In quaintly fashioned bonnet 

With simplest ribbons on it. 

The older folk remember well 

How prompt she was at Sabbath bell. 

I see her yet ; her decent shawl, 
Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all. 
The deacons courtly meet her. 
The pastor turns to greet her. 
And maid and matron quit their place 
To find her fan or smooth her lace. 

I see her yet, with saintly smile. 
Pass slowly up the quiet aisle ; 
Her mien, her every motion. 
Is melody, devotion ; 
232 



A SAINT OF YORE 

Contagious grace spreads round her way, 
The prayer that words can never pray. 

Old Groveland Church ! the good folk fill 

It yet, up on the windy hill ; 

The grass is round it growing 

For nearest neighbors' mowing ; 

The weathered, battered sheds, behind. 

Still rattle, rattle, with the wind. 

All is the same ; but in yon ground 
Have thickened fast the slab and mound. 
Hark ! Shall I join the praises ? 
Rather, among the daisies. 
Let me, in peaceful thought, once more 
Be silent with the saint of yore. 



233 



GRAN'THER 

"Who's killed, to-day?" 

He asks, in his ancient way ; 

" And what have they stolen, this time, my 

lad? 
Bad business, my boy, right bad, right bad ! " 

The pipe — mark it slide 

To the other side — 
How he puffs it, and whews. 
Keeping up with the news ! 

A character ! 

When he opens, — "I tell ye, sir. 

There 's nothing like knowing cheese from 

chalk," 
Make ready for none of your modern talk ; 

Run the text as it may. 

He has something to say. 
Be you never so clever, 
Will squelch you forever. 
234 



GRAN'THER 

A grand old man. 

Built after the olden plan ! 

" Nonsense," he says ; " no trouble so tough 

But good backbone is doctor enough ; " 

He 's the heart of the farm. 

Still its strong right arm. 
How he smiles, how he smokes, 
'Twixt the sermons and jokes ! 



235 



THE OLD FARM BARN 

The maples look down with bright eyes in 

their leaves, 
The clear drops drip from the swallow-built 

eaves, 
The pond is all dimples from shore to 

shore. 
And the miller smiles back from his place 

in the door. 

Slow mist from the mountain comes drifting 

down, 
The houses show fainter afar in the town. 
The gust sweeps up, dies away again. 
Then loud and fast the rap-tap of the rain. 

Old Nancy looks soberly out from her stall, 
The drowsy cows — do they chew at all ? 
The old farm barn is so dusk and still 
The spiders sleep on the window-sill. 



236 



THE GOOD OLD TIME 

A GRAY old orchard, scarred as by battle, 
A row of poplars gaunt and hoar. 

Dandelions, lilacs, and no-name roses, 
And the pewee over the door ; 

Stanch weeds, stiff grasses that challenge the 
winter. 
Wild cherries, red ripe on the wall, 
The song of the birds in the hush of the 
morning. 
At evening, the low cattle-call ; 

Savage paths a-bristle with burdock and 
thistle. 
Strong sun, and shadow as strong. 
Quick brooks that learn the song of the 
upland. 
And sing it the still night long ; 

The clover, the laughter, the chat in the 
shadow. 
The noon horn's lusty alarm, 
237 



THE GOOD OLD TIME 

The halting mower, with a stroke at the 
sweat-bee. 
Slowly dropping his brown bare arm ; — 

Come back to me ever, you long-faded 
glories. 

Bringing the bygone day ; 
Weave in my dream the seasons together 

In your own dear wayward way. 

The march is forward, the past is in ashes. 
On the wreck of the old is risen the new ; 

But the boy in my heart with a shout still 
follows 
Where the mowers swing out in the dew. 



238 



COLLIE KELSO 

(An Epitaph) 

The rhythmic beating of his tail, 
As though two hearts took turn about. 
One thump inside, and then one out, — 
Like all things earthly, it must fail. 
Pacific gesture, made to span 
The gap 'twixt animal and man. 
Death stopt it. One last waggle ; so 
Went Kelso where the good dogs go. 



239 



BROTHER BACHELOR BATRA- 
CHIAN 

" Wears yet a precious jewel in his head " 

Ho, hermit of the cellar wall, 
If you are coming out at all. 
Come now ; in thirty minutes more 
The rain will trickle down your door. 
Come, come ; hurrah, there, bachelor lump ! 
Betwixt a waddle and a jump. 
Judge-like ascend your own toad-stool. 
Worked out last night by wizard's tool. 
Ha, there you are, sedate as ever ; 
Prodigious plain, but passing clever. 
The years are twenty to a day 
Since you and I first sat this way ; 
How many more think you to squat, 
Contented, on our pleasant spot ? 
Be frank with me, you wily monk. 
Impervious, solemn, clumsy chunk ! 
What mischief are you plotting, now. 
Squaring about sou'west by sou' ? 
240 



BROTHER BATRACHIAN 

A weather-cock, with half the pains, 
Can nose precise a dozen rains. 
Be seated. Crony, it is cold 
Way down there in your stony hold. 
Those dungeon vapors — don't you think 
They make the spirit sort of sink, 
Partic'larly when stingy fate 
Too long withholds the cheery mate ? 
Let go in peace that fiftieth fly ; 
Another morsel, and you die ! 
With your last testament unsigned. 
How dare you gorge yourself stone-blind ? 
A risky situation that 
When toads are twenty-odd and fat. 
Feel nervous, fellow ? Pshaw ! lean back. 
And from your buff aldermanic sack 
Puff out the truth for once and all : 
Your mind 's made up to wed, this fall. 
Your hand ! one lone toad in the wall. 
Is a wart heap, no toad at all. 
There ! don't repeat that deaconish wink ; 
I know exactly what you think. 
Somebody (not far off) has had 
His little frolics, good and bad, 
241 



BROTHER BATRACHIAN 

His salad antics ; dare he vow 
He is well over 'em ? How's that — how? 
Warm evenings, just outside the walk, 
Those cooings by the cabbage stalk ! 
Droll chap, I grant you are old and fat, 
And may have nieces and all that ; 
But when with her you claim relation, 
Blood ties remotest in creation — 
Monstrous ! Old chap, it would n't go down 
Though backed by every toad in town. 
Sit still, no offence ; I can't help joking. 
The moment I see that stub-nose poking 
Into the light. You take a mate — 
Prepost'rous ! Certainly ; too late. 
At your age, better a hangman's halter 
Than the kind one is led with to the 

altar. 
Heaven spare the storm that we can't 

weather. 
We two old jovies, here together. 
Heigh-ho, the gentle, misty rain 
Is coming down the hill again. 
Did you perceive just what was meant 
'Bout that last will and testament ? 
242 



BROTHER BATRACHIAN 

Grave Bachelor Batrachian, pray, 
What sense in sidling off that way ? 
Ridiculous old rogue ! Turn round ; 
You will soon enough be underground. 
No other eyes see well as mine 
How bright your inner riches shine ; 
Long may they live when you are dead 
Leave me the jewel in your head. 



243 



FRIEND OPHIDIAN 

(To John Muir, Discoverer of the " Bashful 
Rattlesnake ") 

Cylindrical thing 

Without leg, without wing, 

Glazed membrane stuffed with motion, 

Give ear to a heretic's notion. 

The fact that you crawl 

Is no reason at all 

For sitfast accusing 

And head-pan bruising ; 

A walk or a glide, 

A stride or a slide, 

A trip or a slip, 

A skate or a skip, — 

Any one of the eight, all the same to me, 

Sly, india-rubber iniquity ! 

I can't get rid of an early suspicion 

That we harp overhard on the point of 

position. 
I think, moreover, in your shabbiest deed. 
You can give no points to Adam's seed. 
244 



FRIEND OPHIDIAN 

We all have our lapses, among them as 
serious 

As those at your threshold, twister myste- 
rious. 

To travel way back to the start of the 
world, 

When in grasses of Eden your ancestor 
curled, 

Suppose in snakeskin a wretch did deceive 

Dear, lily-lovely, much-visible Eve ; 

In their own skins, to-day, that's just what 
men do. 

Then put the whole blame (and the bludg- 
eon) on you. 

Your forefathers, likely, were up to their 
tricks. 

But the fault, after all, was plainly Old 
Nick's ; 

And if only your paths are sinlessly slid. 

We can well let slide what your grand- 
daddy did. 

Poor animate string with the glittering 
eye. 

At peace on the sunny hillock lie. 
245 



FRIEND OPHIDIAN 

As for me and my house, we will never 

inveigh 
'Gainst a ribbon that harmlessly garters our 

way, 
Nor with cudgel from cactus or Calvin 

hewed. 
Fall thwacking its limber longitude. 
Forgive us, friend Ophidian ; 
Bask on in peace meridian. 



246 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 



" 'T is the gods ; 
. . . the secret justice of the gods 
Is mingled with it." — Philaster 



PERSONS 

Menelaus, King of Sparta 

Helen, his ^een 

Paris, Prince of llion 

iETHRA, Serving- IV Oman to the ^ueen 

Courtiers of Sparta 

Courtiers of llion 



Scene : Sparta. Palace of Menelaus 
The King and ^een look from a Window 

Helen 

More hunters, come to boast and chase the 

boar 
With Mepelaus, Sparta's hunter-king. 

Menelaus 
And Spartan Helen's husband. 

Helen 

Fame does not trump my lord as Helen's 

husband ; 
Yon comers honor Sparta's hunter-king. 

Menelaus 

Came they because I wear upon my breast 

The pearl of ail the seas — Nay, why so 

pale? 

Helen 

The frown is gone ; with it my silly fright. 
251 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Menelaus 
The leader is no Greek. Greeks walk the 

ground, 
While he my prince, there, trips it on the 

wind. 

Helen (to herself) 
No Greek indeed ; and whose the flaming 

wings ? 
Is it the wand of Hermes? Do I sleep? 



Palace Hall 
Menelaus and Courtiers. Paris and Courtiers 

Paris 
King Menelaus, we are of Ilion all, 
Turned from our errand. Not with men it 

lies. 
But with the gods, to reach the wished-for 

shore ; 
Our baffled sails were set for Salamis. 
To harbor us is kindness done to Thrace ; 
252 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

The where, Poseidon and Apollo helping, 
My grandsire builded, old Laomedon. 

Menelaus 

It is good Priam's son. 

There 's none but knows your white-haired 
father well. 

Knows Hector, too. Queen Hecabe's first- 
born ; 

And fortune now adds Paris. One and all. 

Most welcome ! So. Upon the morrow, 
friends. 

We face the boar together. 

Paris 

Gladly we bide the wheeling of a sun ; 
Longer we may not stay our urgent jour- 
ney. 
When Heracles laid low Laomedon, 
He took for spoil his child, Hesione, 
And gave her to his friend, Prince Telamon 
Of Salamis. Prince Telamon now dead. 
We, here, are sent to say to Salamis, 
" Priam would have Hesione at home." 
253 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Menelaus 

'T is well. We feast to-night, friends, hunt 

to-morrow. 

Thereafter, at your pleasure, sail away, 

Commissioned of two thrones : " Ilion and 
Sparta 

Demand of Salamis King Priam's sister." 



Banquet Hall 
Menelaus leads in Helen 

Menelaus 

It were no banquet not set off with Helen. 
Our ways are freer, Prince, than they may be 
At Ilion. — Ere we fall to baser joys. 
My Queen, welcome with me old Priam's 

joy, 

Prince Paris ; fated, on the hour he goes. 
To take with him the captive heart of Sparta. 

Mthra (to herself) 

If my old eyes can see, it will be so ; 
If my old hands can help, it shall be so. 
254 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Paris 

Most gracious lady, light of Lacedaemon, 
In honest Sparta none may hide his thought. 

Mthra (to herself) 

Tush, Paris ! Aphrodite's thought, not 
yours. 

Paris 
To tell my thought I first must tell the tale 
The thought was born of. 'T is about a lad, 
A shepherd lad who watched my father's 

flocks, 
Feeding upon a slope of piny Ida. 
To him Olympus sent, one summer day. 
Three goddesses. Heaven had, 'twould 

seem, no god 
Dare say which was the fairest of the three. 
And it must ask the silly shepherd lad. 
The Fair Ones found him by Scamander's 

bank — 
Scamander, yellow as his own wild locks. 
Stained with the sunshine — where he sat, 

and played 

255 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

As blithe a pipe as ever lifted foot 
Of fawn or forest nymph dancing to Pan. 
The first to speak was she that sits by Zeus, 
The Bride of Heaven : " Shepherd, we hear 

that you. 
Taught of the lovely things you live among. 
Wise Nature's gentle confidant, can tell 
Of beauteous things which is most beautiful. 
Take you this apple, boy, and give it her 
You find the fairest here." " Take it " — 

't was now 
The virgin against whose ivory side the lance 
Of love is shattered — " take it, boy, and give 
It to the fairest. We stand upon the choice." 
The pastor lad stood gazing ; dazed, but bent 
To do his best ; when th^ other — she that 

comes. 
And it is summer there — speechless, drew 

nigh. 
He looked on her, nor knew he any more 
Until he saw the apple in her hand. 

Mthra (to herself) 

Who had done otherwise, let him step forth. 
256 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen 
It is a pretty tale; but, Prince, your thought? 

Paris 
Poor silly, silly lad ! 

Helen 
I think his elders had not hit it better. 

Paris 

He stopt not with the deed, but would 

stout hold. 
When ripe his years were grown, that he 

had looked 
Upon the fairest shape of Earth or Heaven. 
So late he learns the cheat. 

Menelaus 

Though Zeus himself were for it, not an 

hour 
I 'd let him loose among the listening 

girls. — 
Dread Prince, see that you bide within my 

walls. 

257 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

jEthra (to herself) 
Would I were sure of fortune as of that ! 

Group of Courtiers in another part of the room 

First Spartan 

Come, now, have Ilion's meadows all the 

bees. 
And has your prince drained every hive ? 

First T'rojan 

That's Paris. 

Second Trojan 
But sweets are his that from his cradle mates 
With Cebren nymphs, and, counting up the 

days 
And nights, so tells the number of his loves. 

First Spartan 
Yearning as Helen's look was not her own 
That out of Heaven leaned, and straight 

was lost 
To it in shadows of the Latmian bower. 
258 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Another Spartan 

Nor he that drew her down knew sweeter 

dream 
Than folds, now, languid Paris. 

Second 'Trojan 

Paris to-night 
Is not the Paris of to-morrow. Then, 
The hunt up, you will see another man. 
Enough. The queen retires, led lingering 

off 
In loveliness which, after all, goes not. 
But, like to summer day, disputes the dark. 

A Spartan 

Now to our cups and pleasures meet for men. 
Then sleep, if time be left ; and when first 

snort 
The horses of the morning, for the hills ! 



259 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Paris alone on his couch, after the banquet. JEthra 
approaches him 

Mthra 

No nymph, love-led from lorn Scamander's 

bank, 
Seeks, now, the couch of Paris. Nymph 

nor maid 
I am ; only a woman, iEthra old. 

Paris 
The hour invites both youth and age to 
sleep. 

Mthra 

Youth sleep — sleep now ! Youth, youth 

was mine, too, once. 
Under a cliff, once, was I secret bathing, 
When from his palace, choking all the deep 
Off rocky Imbros, drave Poseidon forth 
His horses golden-hoofed and brazen-maned. 
Dashing toward wonted pleasure - haunts 

ashore. 
His fierce glance pierced to me ; he reached, 

and off 

260 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

His chariot whirled us. Ay, Poseidon 't was. 
Marry, what had he for his amorous pains ? 
Something, I wot. Yet did he pluck a weed ; 
The water-god did pluck a weed, I say, 
Held up beside the flower in reach of Paris. 

Paris 
Woman, I am the guest of Menelaus. 

Mthra 
Has love become so poor ! 
When I was young love lorded all the world. 
There was no king but love, no queen but 

beauty, 
In days when virgins closed with kings and 

gods, 
And babes came of it worth the weight and 

pain. 

Paris 
Woman, I am his guest. 

{Aphrodite appears and vanishes) 
It was the look, the very look she had, 
Smiling, on piny Ida. 
261 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Mthra 
How came he by her ? The prize that felled 

all Greece 
At Sparta's feet, how was it won, at last ? 
How came the wooers up who, side by side 
With Menelaus, chafed the very walls 
That shut us in, to-night, shouldering to- 

w'ard Helen ? 
You picture gentle gardeners, none so rude 
Would pluck, ere it should flower, love's 

loveliest bud. 

I tell you, I who faced them, man by man. 
They were so many bulls. 

Which locked their horns together, pawed 

the ground 
As they would plow away Eurotas' bank, 
Bellow strong Sparta down, till one of all 
Should lure the heavenly heifer from her 

hills. 

I I thaws the winter in my veins to think on 't ; 
And your young blood, young summer 

blood, instead 
Of throbbing hot to valor's fiery top. 
Does clot and scum in the dull ooze of sleep. 
262 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Paris (mutters, his mind returning to the vision) 
Hot as my thought plunges no bolt of Jove, 
Driven, hissing, down the hollow of the 
night. 

JEthra 

They were not bulls ? Well, make them 
hunter-kings. 

And what did they, the gallant hunter- 
kings ? 

They ran her, like a wild thing, to the hole. 

He won her, has her yet — and has her not. 

Paris (rousing) 

Her heart shall answer that : she loves the 

king. 

^thra 
With but a glance young Paris can see more 
Than iEthra with her years, and all her 

days 
And nights of mother's ward. 

Paris 

She loves the king. 
263 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Mthra 
Ay, since who has her heart, the same is king. 

Paris 
She loves her lord. 

Mthra 
Ay, since who has her love 
Is so her lord. — Didst ever know a nurse 
So hurried she came off without her story ? 
You and your train had just come in the hall, 
And Menelaus gone to greet you, when. 
As wont, I went to bind the darling's hair. 
Upon her couch I found her. And asleep ? 
Asleep she was, that soon ; yet would she 

smile, 
Ay, speak, at times. Certes it was a sleep ; 
For when she woke she yet half-stayed in it, 
With murmurs as of bird-tones far away, 
Afloat upon the gloaming. So I found 
Her when you had come in. Well, while I 

robed 
The child, to-night, she plied me, — 

"iEthra, how 
264 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

May mortals tell when truly 't is a god ; 
Whether it be a dream, or they in truth 
Look on a very god ? " I answered her, 
It was a thing to learn of one's own self. 
Not to be taught. " I think, I think," she 

said — 
Remember she was not yet well awake — 
" I think the prince is — followed by a god- 
dess I " 

Paris 
Go ! Rather dreams that rack the souls in 

Hell. 
Send them ; but speak no further. 

Mthra (to herself) 

'T is enough. 

\_Exit Mthra 

Paris 
O terrible goddess ! Thou hast kept thy 
word. 



265 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen at her loom, weaving and singing 

Helen 

Softly, shepherd, watch your flock. 
They must let the baby rock, — 
By-a-by, by-a-by ; 
Keep the dreams back, every one, 
Till the journey is begun. 
By-a-baby, by-a-by. 

Not till baby floats away. 

Pretty shepherd, let them stray, — 

By-a-baby, by-a-by ; 

Then around him let them play ; 

Hark you, shepherd, what I say. 

By-a-baby, by-a-by. 

Careless shepherd, keep them back, 
One is coming, white and black, — 
By-a-baby, by-a-by ; 
Never, never let him go 
Who has spot upon his snow ; 
By-a-baby, by-a-by. 
266 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Softly, shepherd, soft, I say. 
Not till baby floats away, — 
By-a-baby, by-a-by. 
Ah, the dreamkins, well they know ! 
Loose them, shepherd, let them go. 
All alone are you and 1. 
(Enter Menelaus^ returned from the hunt) 
My lord safe home again! 

(She throws a cloth over the loom) 

Menelaus 

Home, Dearest, home. 
(He steps toward the loom) 

Helen (holding him back) 
Not yet ; the charm 's at work. 

Menelaus 

Ay. Tell me, then, 
What song you sang. 

Helen 

A magic air it was, 
A sleep-song .^Ethra taught me long ago, 
267 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

A lullaby the mother sings at Athens ; 
I sing it, and I am a child again. 
But 't is an ugly gash upon your arm ! 
I hope you pricked the monster with such 

pain 
He set the hills a-howl. 

Menelaus 

The tusk that dealt me this was grown in 

Thrace, — 
Paris' taper hand. 

Helen 
The prince ! I 'd risk my naked arm 'gainst 
his. 

Menelaus 

Nay, boast it not! the courage is too com- 
mon. 

Helen 

Dreamy, unbearded Paris ! 

Menelaus 

Ay, Troy's Apollo, with the woman's wrist 

And ringlets. Never more misleading man 

268 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Did ramp Taygetus' lairs. To see him lilt 
Along the hills, swinging this way and that 
As though a zephyr stirred him, then the 

stand ! 
The boar stood but a wink at bay. He 

charged. 
Mine, surely mine ! What happened? In 

the nick 
A spear came crying from behind, grazed 

here. 
Along its victor way, and Troy's the glory. 
Beware of beardless princes ! 

Helen 
Let him weigh anchor ; Sparta is not safe. 

Menelaus 
To-morrow I set out, but Paris stays. 

Helen 
I hoped you would deny Idomeneus, 
And let the restless Cretans chase alone. 
One day the king will hunt one day too 
many. 

269 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

(Enter Mthra) 

Menelaus 

' Tis one of iEthra's croakings. See, she 

comes. 
One has his friends, and has one friend of 

all; 
I never can refuse Idomeneus. 
Host with full hand and free our Thracian 

friends. 

Mthra (to herself) 
An she fail there, Olympus is untopt 
And all the lofty gods are jostled down. 



Helen at the loom, Mthra by her side 

Mthra 

Manless once more. Hey day ! it 's hunt 

again. 
And Sparta wantons in her widow's weeds. 
What said his Hunter Highness to the 



weaving ? 



270 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen 
'T is but begun ; I could not show it so. 

The posture is a god's ; and that above 
His head may grow into a goddess' wing. 
A jump, and lo, your skill is at the pitch ; 
A wondrous sudden mount. But one 

power, lass, 
Can push so fast. 

Helen 
It may not be the prince. 

jEthra 
A hunter-king with plumy helmet on ! 

Helen 
A little kindness for the kindly king. 
'T is true he holds you here ; but why you 

know. 
The gain is mine, not his. 



271 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Mthra 

1 will repay him ; crown shall answer crown. 

Remember I too had, one time, a kingdom. 

But ^thra — let her pass. It 's Helen now ; 

The gods (and I) are busy now with Helen. 

How came she here ? Is she the king's or 
love's ? 

Let these walls speak, what would the an- 
swer be ? 

In at that window swept the panting swan 

'To Leda s lap. Zeus had his hour of love, 

That love might be again ; and Helen was. 

Is she the king's or love's ? Love's ; and he 
comes ! 

(Enter Paris) 

Paris 

Fluttering 'twixt basket, harpstrings and the 

web. 
Fancy, and dare she build in rigorous Sparta? 

Helen (hurriedly covering the loom) 
Perchance ; but he whose arm had might 
against 

272 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

My lord's would fright the younglings from 
the nest. 

Mthra (to herself) 

That will he, and thence lure the mother-bird. 

[Exit Mthra 
Paris 

Who is the woman with Queen Helen so 

much, 
This moment gone ? 

Helen 

Born to a prophet-king, 
i^thra, a slave at Sparta, was a queen 
At home. The chance of battle lodged her 

here, 
And here she bides. Myself would set her 

free ; 
But since the king's will runs the other 

way. 
She stays to serve me. 

Paris 
Can you wholly trust her ? 

273 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen 
If one may trust the love that serves too well. 

Paris 
Now first I learn that love may love too 

well. 
Queen Helen, fate's hour has struck, and 1 

must speak. 
As gods and all men know, none sees your 

face 
And loves you not. I, Paris, made for love, 
The last of men could look into this heaven. 
Look once, and be thereafter what I was. 

{^Aphrodite appears and vanishes) 

Helen (to Aphrodite) 

Nay, goddess ; I have yielded oft, not know- 
ing. 
Nay ; I am stronger now. 

Paris 

'T is not the time 
Or place for more, but one thing must I 
know : 

274 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Part we to meet again, or meet no more ? 
To-night my canvas fills for Salamis. 

Helen (to herself) 
I hear low music, sweeter than the brook, 
Sweeter than evening in the summer leaves. 
To Salamis — What was it that he said ? 

(to Paris) 
The king's words were, " I go, but Paris 
stays." 

Paris 

My men are in the boats. 

Helen 
The nights are many, many ; why to-night ? 

Paris 
My men are in the boats ; and I must know 
If now they drag me hence, drooped as the 

pine 
That, blasted, hangs upon the windy cliff. 
Nor lifts his pithless arms ; or if I go 
In my love's might, soon to return, and 
speak, — 

275 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Name, here, the terms of love, 

And make it good at point of Trojan swords. 

(Enter Mthrd) 

Helen 
You said to-night, and something after that. 

Mthra (to herself) 

Out on the goddess ! she has flown again 
Before my darling, blinding her sweet eyes. 

(She hurries past the loom, pulling off the 
curtain) 

Poor little Queen ! 

Helen 
I am over it, good ^thra. 

(Exit jEthra^ while Helen rouses to find Paris 
gazing at the figure in the loom) 

I meant, believe me, none should ever know. 

Paris 
Down, down, my heart ! be ironed, dun- 
geoned deep, 

276 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Lest you should, breaking through my 

breast, leap forth 
To hers, and, summing that wild liberty, 
Dash to it, and both, in love 's unbroken 

shock. 
Be struck to nothing. If love's word you 

speak. 
Let her not hear your thunder in my veins ; 
But softly speak as if the shadow spoke 
She here has wrought, the lover in the loom. 

Helen 
T pray you, woo me not, but teach me, Paris ! 
Tell, tell me what I do, and why I do it ! 
A child am I ; as much a child as on 
The day they seized me, braided up my 

hair, 
My long bright hair, the plaything of the 

winds 
Which loved to chase me on the sunny 

hills,— 
Bound me, and, there among the valley 

flowers. 
On thickest bed of all the sweet wild lives, 
277 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Would spill my blood into their piteous 

faces, 
And so lift off the plague upon our land ; 
As much a child as when mad Theseus 

haled 
Me from the Temple, castanet in hand, 
A-dancing with the children — dragged me 

thence 
To weep, a captive, in his Attica, 
i^thra can tell you all. 
A child am I ; alas ! have ever been 
A child, a cast leaf on the uncaring wind. 

Paris 

Queen Helen — soon must I speak the 

dearer name — 
Against the sovereign will clutched on us, 

now. 
We both are children. Nothing may I 

teach. 

Helen 

Teach me, my Master, Lover-Lord, my 
King. 

278 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Paris 

I may not teach ; but what love told may 

tell 
Again : not in my own sole might I come. 

Helen 

The Queen of Love came with you when 

you came. 
Her now I feel, her breath upon my face. 

Paris 
Ay, she that promised me. — 
Whisper me. Mother; give me fitting 

words ! — 
The tale I strove to tell you when we met — 
My words killed by your beauty, slaying 

speech 
And soul at once — wanted the happy end. 
The wondrous promise of the Queen of 

Love. 
You know it, now. Oh, sweeter than her 

breath. 
Flower-burdened, were her words ! " Dearer 

to me 

279 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

She is than dearest child to mortal mother. 
She waits ; her loveliness, her love is yours." 

Helen (to Aphrodite) 
Forgive one all unworthy of thy care ; 
Goddess, forgive ! Thou knowest what has 
been. 

Paris 

Turn to the past, my Love, my peerless 

Love ; 
Bring back the time gone by, the while I set 
Against that dark this dawn and the day to 

be. 

Helen 

The past is far away, now ; and so near 

But yesterday ! Time and the world, all 

changed. 
And I ? The driven leaf is a moment lodged ; 
Not still, but touched with rest, trembling 

toward quiet. 

Paris 
You, Oreades, who hi^sh the troubled hills. 
And lay the unbroken charm on Dian's 
groves ; 

280 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

You, Nereides, who gleam in the green 

sea. 
And watch and count the stars from Thetis' 

towers ; 
You whose pure hands unlatch the skyey 

windows, 
And loose the sun and rain, and wake the 

world 
From her white sleep, calling the blossoms 

up, — 
Come hither, sweetest Hours and sweetest 

Airs, 
And serve her, sweeter, fairer than you all. 

Helen 

Say on, my Lover-Lord, nor let me wake. 
Upon a blissful stop, a venomed voice 
Crawled in ; but gashed itself with its own 

fangs. 
And writhing, slowly died. 

Paris 
Wake not ; sleep on. This kiss, though you 
slept sound 

281 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

As any sleep in graves, this must you feel; 
Must feel, and know it mine — 

Helen 
iEthra ! Paris ! Oh ! Oh! Where have I been, 
And am come back to this ! 

Paris 
Swift horror blenches yet this whitest brow! 

Helen 
A file of ghosts — 'T is passing, gliding by ! 
Dim shapes of men yet dwelling in bright 

Hellas — 
I know them ; once before they came, no 

phantoms, 
Oath-bound, each one, to take me home, 

his bride. 

Paris 
There 's danger ? At a sign from me my men 
Will quit the boats, dash hither from the 

strand. 
And straightway will we tame the haughty 
ghosts. 

282 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen 
Spotty their corslets, their helmets all ablaze ! 

Paris 
Dye yet their reddest blood with red of Hell, 
And I will wade it. 

Helen 
Late I wore that thing, 
The girdle in his great unkingdomed hand. 

Paris (clasping Helen) 

Heaven's hand or Hell's, this will I snatch 
from it ; 

So trophied, point the proud ship-beaks to- 
ward Ilion. 

(Enter Mthra) 

Mthra 

Hush, silly children ! You have slept and 

waked, 
A way all children have ; it is but nature. 
I am a mother, children, Theseus' mother ; 
283 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Two golden heads make not this old white 

head. 
Hush, pretty babes ! my hand will lead you 

home. 

Helen (A sudden light envelops her head) 
My peace returns. No more I fear the 

ghosts ; 
But you, fierce, terrible Paris, make me 

tremble. 
Hear me ; let not the dear peace go again. 
Hear, Paris, hear ; love has no further toil. 
If I be not most honorably won. 
Then love 's a liar, and there is no truth ; 
But if true love speak truth, know I am 

won 
Most fairly. And if my wish have any 

weight, 
And you would sometime take me, take me 

now. 

Mad boy, begone ! Stay not to face the 
king. 

284 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Paris 
This head, this golden head a mark for scorn ! 
Gods, gods, the while I speak how bright it 
grows ! 

Helen 
If scorn do point at me, 't will point because 
Of what has been before this honest hour. 
Go I or stay, 1 am not his, but yours ; 
The grim ghosts know I never was the 

king's. 
The shame, the scorn, is hers who falsely 

stays, 
Not hers who goes, bold to be false no 

longer. 

Mthra 

No other logic, Paris, straight as love's. 
My own boy Theseus fell upon her, once. 
And plucked her from the Temple. That 

was robbery ; 
The high gods bred and held her for another. 
Love's day is come ; and if you take her 

not, 

285 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

This night, from damned Sparta, I say now, 
To your pale face, I will myself set out 
With her, alone, and go and stand with her 
Before old Priam ; nor tell him half the story 
Ere he shall shake you off, ay, brand his 

darling 
The very basest of his Thracian slaves. 



Night. Paris and Helen are engaged in a finger- 
game, which Helen invented to play with 
Paris, ^thra watches them, herself unob- 
served. 

Helen 

Could I but learn how dull you are at learn- 
ing, 

I should not try to teach you. You have 
lost 

A twenty kisses in as many minutes. 

Paris 

Is this the finger ? 

286 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen 

That 's the very one 



You lost on last. 



Paris 

Then will I play it — so. 



Helen 
You kissed before you played. 



Paris 
Well, now I have played. 



Helen 
And kissed, too, out of turn. 



Paris 

This takes it back. 



Helen 
You cannot take it back. 



Paris 

No ? Then here 't is. 
287 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

Helen 
I say again, it is a finger-game. 
Not played with lips — Was that the sentry's 
signal ? 

Paris 
I will look, for one more kiss. 

Helen 

I will look myself. 

[Helen leaves the room, Paris following 

Paris 
'Tis a kind service; I will kiss you for it. 

j^thra (following at a distance) 

Where now 's the king, and where is Salamis, 
Where aught my pretty ones so hung on 

once .f* 
All clean forgot ; the goddess has her way. 
But' it is worth my woes, worth all my 

bonds. 
To look on that ! Antic as nimblest fawns, 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

They frisk it to the chariot. — Sweetest joys 
Of Aphrodite, she will tend you well. 
Soon as you mount, the waiting mist will 

fold. 
And shut her darlings from the peeping 

Spartans. — 
Feast, ^Ethra, your old eyes ; 't is a brave 

charm ! 
No dog may howl, no night thing stir 

abroad ; 
The stallions, wont to neigh and prance as 

though 
They rolled their wild eyes on Aurora's 

mares, 
Now barely move their shining sides for 

breath. 
And every hoof sucks to the stubborn 

ground. 
The king's fool-slaves have I drugged well 

with wine ; 
They will not wake till we be far at sea. 
Boy Paris bade me go, and have my free- 
dom ; 
I will not take it till I see my bird 
289 



WHEN LOVE WAS LORD 

In her white cage, all safe in strong-walled 

Ilion. 
Dark are the ways of men ; most brief are 

joys. 
And of brief joys is love, alas ! the briefest. 
Love's hour is brief, but O that hour, that 

hour ! 
My dears, who dream so deep, must wake 

again ; 
Tempest shall drive, the shock of vengeful 

war 
Shake down dream-builded bliss. So let it 

be. 
When next a-hunting goes the hunter-king, 
The din shall run the circuit of the seas. 
Heaven wills it ; let it be. Farewell, fare- 
well ! 
Farewell to Lacedasmon ! — Remember, 

gods. 
That 1, old /Ethra, stood with ye in this. 



290 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 



A DIM lithe shape moves over the 

mesa, 151. 
A flame — an instant, secret, mys- 
tic thing, 28. 
A gray old orchard, scarred as by 

battle, 237. 
A lass am I, and I wait my day, 

213. 
A lone soul came to Heaven's hard 

gate, 93. 
A priest of Heaven, some gracious 

hour, 164. 
A sound as of the falling leaves, 

128. 
A sprig of mint by the wayward 

brook, 185. 
A sunbeam kissed a river-ripple, 

— "Aye, 168. 
A voice oft speaks, and saith, 167. 
A webby mead with diamonds set, 

188. 
A wind, whence no man knows, 

192. 
Ah, Hope, no more, 88. 
Along all ways the path of triumph 

lies, 170. 
Answer the cabin and the hunting- 
shed, 180. 
As out of the dark the stars, 100. 
As the shadows glide, 216. 
At last, somewhere, some happy 

day, 5. 



Broad, squat, flat-nosed, thick- 
lipped and onion-eyed, 78. 

Came a little lonely thought, 37. 
Color in the lilacs, 212. 
Constant mites that briskly whip, 

160. 
Courtier, in unpretending dress, 

109. 
Cylindrical thing, 244. 

Darkness, grow and blacker fold, 

149. 
Daylong a craven cry goes up, 48. 
Dear buds of flesh and blood, 99. 
Drops of summer rain, 219. 

Ere roves the bee or cometh forth 
the flower, 194. 

Falling all the night-time, 142. 
Fearest the shadow ? Keep thy 

trust, 175. 
Few listened to the lonely singer's 

lay, 42. 
First of the deedful, giant few, 62. 
For beauty and for gladness of the 

days, 174. 
For once, old ebon buccaneer, 153. 
Freedom! have we won it yet, 70 
From the withered, bitter ground, 

20. 



Beckoned the Comer Dim, loi. 
Bring, bluebird, from the blue 
above, 187. 



Golden hair and eyes of blue, 199. 
Hark, hark! 150. 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 



Hast heard those voices low that 

fare, 98. 
Hast seen the morn, the first light 

in his eyes, 23. 
Hast thou been down into the deep 

of thought, 45. 
He knows her voice, he heeds her 

call, 164. 
He shed no tears, he made no 

moan, 91. 
He that engenders had called 

forth the world, 176. 
Hear fancy's song, 116. 
Hearken Summer's song, 139. 
Heigh-ho, a drowsy, drippy day, 

207. 
Herald of blissful summertide 

come I, 188. 
Hid ways have winds that lightly 

shake, 135. 
Hill to vale, with measures gay, 

204. 
His people called, and forth he 

came, 64. 
Ho, hermit of the cellar wall, 240. 
Holy, Holy ! — In the hush, 189. 
How many happy summers yet, 

38. 

I had a playmate when a boy, 97. 
I honor him who needs must chop 

the stone, 184. 
I keep thy memory as the hilltops 

hold, 27. 
I 'm just about the color of mud, 

159. 
I need not hear the moan they 

make, 89. 
I read once more this care-worn, 

patient face, 76. 
I saw a wild bird on a rock, 90. 
I sing home songs, tuning the 

strings, 16. 



I strive to keep me in the sun, 

10. 
I think it better to believe, 217. 
I thought it spoke to me, 56. 
I trust in what the love-mad mavis 

sings, 3. 
I would have a poet's book, 203. 
I would rather be, 15. 
If reign you will in Havilah, 71. 
If the year be at her Spring, 215. 
If yonder lie another, better land, 

In the poet's world, shamed is his 

art, 46. 
It is now forty years ago, 80. 
It was in a still place of graves, 

104. 

Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, 
Milly, 227. 

Liquid as lies the wave the hilltop 

lies, 33. 
Lo, it locks, 81. 
Lost Joy, who now is at your side, 

166. 
Love came, one night, his wings 

all wet, 206. 
Love, I would have thee as the 

snow is, white, 26. 
Love's lips or the betrayer's kiss, 

168. 
Low at my feet is stretched the 

lordly vale, 182. 



Marry, sirs, here's merry greeting, 

163. 
Men hope and labor and despair, 

193. 
Men scorn them, but the wiser 

day, 120. 
Must be God's warders hearken 

every sigh, 172. 

294 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 



Mute the ferny woodland ways, 

123. 
My books, you have made Hght 

the heavy time, 181. 
My breath is on the mountain 

pine, 193. 
My heart, you happy wandered, 

My lot with man is cast, 194. 
My song, you need be neither long 
nor loud, 163. 

Nature reads not our labels, 

"great" and "small," 66. 
Night strengthens star by star, 

166. 
No help in all the stranger-land, 

105. 
No hue of early Spring, 106. 
Not a thing that lives and moves, 

19. 
Not in the time of pleasure, 87. 
Now is Light, sweet mother, down 

the west, 132. 

Oft I call, he nothing hears, 100. 
Old Israel's readers of the stars, 

47- 
On and on, in sun and shade, 85. 
On Nature's round, 21. 
On the south winds a flurry, 221. 
One brave look, holding hers, 41. 
One comes with kind, capacious 

hold, 92. 
One whitest lily, reddest rose, 31. 
Or in the East or in the West, 205. 
Out on a world that has run to 

weed, 50. 

Plato come back to turn a Yankee 

phrase, 77. 
Pure spirit, pure and strangely 

beautiful, 94. 

2 



Revere thy roof; life has no more, 
171. 

Shalt thou be beauty's dream, her 

sweetest thought, 32. 
She lives, she lives up in the hills, 

34- 
Slow trembles from her envied 

crown, 191. 
Soft follower of the early star, 130. 
"Step softly; where your foot is 

was a flower, 169. 
Stiller than where that city lies 

asleep, 165. 

Take of the maiden's, of the mo- 
ther's sigh, 223. 
Thanks to you, sun and moon and 

star, 6. 
That I might borrow your voice. 

Fall Wind, 140. 
The beeches brighten for young 

May, 114. 
The bird is silent overhead, 133. 
The birds have hid, the winds are 

low, 132. 
The brook, slow northward to- 
ward the snows, 192. 
The children tucked away, 226. 
The circling sea-birds to the ledge 

have flown, 102. 
The dust, unlifted, lies as first it 

lay, 122. 
The fortress proud, the haughty 

wall, 79. 
The glories falter on the mountain 

crown, 189. 
The hurt hours droop and hover, 

191. 
The Isles of Quiet lie beyond the 

years, 4. 
The lips are pallid, parched with 

woes, 173. 

95 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 



The maples look down with bright 

eyes in their leaves, 236. 
The moon is up, the stars are out, 

147. 
The poet marvels, while he sings, 

164. 
The pussy-willow and the hazel 

know, 187. 
The reddest rose, the bluest violet, 

24. 
The rhythmic beating of his tail, 

239- 
The Shadow came, loi. 
The sky is lilac, the sky is rose, 

134. 
The song of Nature is forever, 

222. 
The sun and all the stars shine on 

thy head, 12. 
The swamp-tree sighs, and the 

thin sharp reed, 191. 
The things the sun and the south 

wind do, 11 1. 
The way to learn how well I love 

you. Dear, 25. 
The weasel thieves in silver suit, 

The wind is awake, pretty leaves, 

pretty leaves, 197. 
The winds are faint; the leaves, 

not sure they blow, 186. 
The winds at play on a breezy day, 

186. 
The yellow fox, 126. 
There be two things that haunt 

my dreams: the flower, 190. 
There is, they say, no sweetest 

rose, 36. 
There's revel in the withered 

close, 14T. 
They led her East, they led her 

West, 103. 



Thine hour is now; ay, though 
the Hand, 170. 

Thus run the hours: blithe calls 
at break of day, 172. 

To-day I stretch me on the shad- 
owed grass, 13. 

To wisdom grief is sweet as mirth, 

J75- 

Toll the slow bell, 52. 

'T was Adam at the gates of Para- 
dise, 178. 

Twilight down the west, 131. 

Two, from the Heights of Quiet, 
167. 

Two gifts God giveth, and He 
saith, 173. 

Upon the thousands cast, 7. 

Voyager on golden air, 121. 

War met him, and fell pestilence, 

169. 
Was never thing, 157. 
We happy hearts for nothing are, 

220. 
We move across the morning lake, 

124. 
Weave, bird in the green, green 

leaves, 113. 
Welcome the shadows; where 

they blackest are, 174. 
What shall be done with little 

Jane, 96. 
When lilies by the river fill with 

sun, 119. 
When of this flurry thou shall 

have thy fill, 174. 
When other birds sing not, 118. 
When somebody comes a-tripping 

down, 201. 



296 



INDEX TO THE FIRST LINES 



When window-panes are smeared, 

148. 
Where wild flowers were and rij)- 

pling grass, 224. 
Wherever a green blade looks up, 

13- 

Who brings it, now, her sweet ac- 
cord, 232. 

Who drives the horses of the sun, 
II. 

Who listens well hears Nature on 
her round, 185. 

" Who's killed, to-day," 234. 

Wide awake, now, mind your eye, 
230. 

With tears and kisses let me go, 
39- 



Would you Love's fairest daugh- 
ter see, 165. 

Would you understand, 218. 

Wouldst hear strange music only 
the dreamer knows, 29. 

Wouldst hear the singing of the 
spheres, 171. 

Wouldst thou the kingliest head 
of old renown, 86. 

Yon shape, so pitiful, once stood, 

115. 
You'd be a taller thing, 73. 
You must have known her had 

you seen her face, 40. 
Young day has flung his saffron 

banner out, 144. 



297 



(2tbe ditocrj^iDe pxts0 

Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &" Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 



15 i: 



